I Solemnly Swear I Am up to No Good: A Mischief Managed Story
by Mouse and Stupid Productions
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy left Hogwarts with a bang - head of his class, discoverer of the graves of all four of Hogwarts' founders, and with a special dose of confidence given to him by Godric Gryffindor's personal watchdog. So where does one go from there if not to pygmy puff husbandry? Well, clearly, one turns to organised crime... Scorose. Rated for inapropriate situations and language
1. An Introductory Interview

**A/N: Hello and welcome. Technically, this is the third part of a trilogy, but should end up being mostly stand alone, so you don't need to read the others for it to make sense. It'll help, certainly, but you should be fine without it. If you've read the first two, welcome back, glad to see you here. Please enjoy! **

**(also, please review. I take all my sustenance from them)**

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Prologue

The Auror paced in front of the interrogation table. I maintained my best poker face.

"Just…humour me for a moment," the Auror said finally, brushing his steely grey hair out of his eyes. "So. You're Scorpius Malfoy."

"Yes," I agreed, glancing uncomfortably at the handcuffs I was being kept in. There are many uses for handcuffs that I find somewhat enjoyable, but this is not one of them.

"You finish Hogwarts at the top of your year with O's in all thirteen NEWTs that you sit," he continued.

"Yes," I agreed.

"You eschew generations of family tradition by getting sorted into Gryffindor," he said. I just nodded. "You're the sole heir to the largest family fortune in the Wizarding World, and one of two heirs to the second largest. So why…"

"Why turn to organised crime?" I suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding like I might be mad. "Oh, and did I mention the job offers? From Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, half of the Quidditch teams in Britain and Ireland, and also from the Ministry itself?"

"Actually it was eighty per cent," I corrected. "Of the Quidditch teams."

"But no," he continued. "Instead you're one of the most notorious criminals in all of England."

"Oh, I also got an award for special services to the school while I was at Hogwarts," I added, mostly just to confuse him further.

The Auror stared at me with a semi-horrified look for a while.

"But why go to crime in the first place?" he asked, sitting down in the interrogation chair across from me.

I sighed. "Well, you see. There's this girl."

He held up his hand to stall me. "Wouldn't happen to be my boss's daughter, would it?"

"Depends on who your boss is," I replied. "If it's Ron Weasley, then sure."

He nodded slowly like he might have a mental breakdown.

"You realise you're going to be here until you tell me everything, right?" he asked.

"I do realise that, Auror…" I prompted.

"McFarlane," he replied. "Please start at the beginning."

I laughed. "You don't want me to start at the beginning," I replied. "The beginning only involves pygmy puffs and love potions."

"Pygmy puffs," McFarlane repeated.

"A really surprising amount of pygmy puffs, actually," I continued. "Did you know they actually have elections for leader? Well, technically, I think the puff running has to be part of the initial bloodline because it's at least partially hereditary, but it's just like those old Disney films with the anthropomorphic animals and-"

"I don't care about pygmy puffs, Mr Malfoy," McFarlane interjected. "So if I don't want you to start at the beginning, where do I want you to start?"

"The beginning was…" I paused to count backwards in my head. With an uncomfortable jolt, I realised it was almost November. "The beginning was seven years ago. You want me to start five years ago."

"Fine," McFarlane replied. "Five years ago."

I smiled. "So five years ago, we were on the Hogwarts Express-"

McFarlane held up his hand to stop me. I fell silent. "Why did you actually agree to tell me everything?" he asked.

"Now McFarlane," I said in my most patronising tone of voice. "I'm one of the most notorious criminals in all of England. Do you really think I'd be here if I didn't want to be?"

He opened his mouth like he meant to argue, then closed it again and nodded that I might continue my story.

"So we were on the Hogwarts Express…"

**Review!**


	2. All My Friends Are Terrible People

**A/N: So I've updated! It's a Christmas Miracle in the middle of August. I'm currently on vacation rather than barricaded in my dungeon of an apartment, so I apologise for the delay. I'm also currently in the fine state of Georgia, where it is possible to get all one's daily water requirement merely by breathing. Entirely irrelevant, but anyways...**

**About the story, the narrative is a little odd because it's Scorpius telling the story to the auror from the last chapter, McFarlane. Occasionally, he talks to McFarlane (you'll understand when you see it) and so whenever he says "you" in the second person, it's because he's talking to McFarlane. **

**That's all. Oh. And Review! Please! So much I capitalised it!**

Chapter One - All My Friends Are Terrible People (But It's Okay, Because I Am Too)

After we finished our seventh year of Hogwarts, we were at a bit of a loss for what to do. It didn't help that one of our number – I'm sure you've heard of her, Emerald Zabini, potion brewer extraordinaire, also my first cousin on my mum's side – was only a sixth year. She wasn't too happy with us for leaving her alone at the school, but there wasn't much we could do about it.

"You'll be fine without us, babe," her boyfriend, one Will Corner, said.

Will often gets points for being the second most attractive of our organisation since he's got the tall, strapping Quidditch player thing going for him. He was in Ravenclaw when we were at school but he only finished third in our year because I exist.

I suppose I should tell you, I was a hopeless loser for the first five years of Hogwarts. Couldn't acquire myself a friend to save my life and I had a nasty habit of running afoul of the Slytherins. As such, I spent all my time studying and ended up best in our year. I eventually acquired friends, obviously, because if I hadn't we wouldn't be here right now.

"I don't want to be 'fine without you'," Em complained from her seat on Will's lap.

"Yes, you'll have to go a whole year without shagging," Dylan Abramson piped up. "A tragedy really."

Dylan was our lone Hufflepuff, which is funny because sometimes I think he might be the most devious of us all. He became an expert in manipulating the Hogwarts rumour mill our last two years there, and then figured out how to manipulate the real-world rumour mill, but that's for later. He had been dating Al for two years, but at that point, they were broken up.

Al – yes, Al as in Albus Potter – was actually the most decent of the lot of us. A case could be made for Sam, but Al had recently been forced into reform against alcoholism, so he was a bit irritable and also rather more level headed, unlike the rest of us who tend to find substances rather entertaining at all times. But Al, son of the Chosen One, not exactly the type you'd think to find in our organisation. Nevertheless, he's actually one of our masterminds.

"You lot realise we're going to have to get jobs, right?" Al asked, glancing around at us with a depressed look in his green eyes.

"But that's not any fun," I replied, tickling my pet pygmy puff. He was lilac and called Tribble. It's a long story.

"Well, Scor can undertake his pygmy puff husbandry and the rest of us can get jobs," Rose said, lifting her head off the table and giving me an annoyed look.

Ah, Rose Weasley. When we had first met, she had been determined to make me as uncomfortable as possible at every given opportunity, which frankly wasn't that hard since I had yet to figure out how to talk to girls who weren't on my Quidditch team. She also persisted in calling me Blondie and wearing very short dresses that showed off her legs. She really has fantastic legs. But over the years we kept managing to find ourselves in questionable situations which usually involved her snogging me as a distraction and then acting like it wasn't weird. While we sat on that train, however, she was entirely forgetful of the previous night's events. You see, at the end of year party we always have in Gryffindor house – you were a Ravenclaw, right, McFarlane? – Rose had managed to drink herself stupid and had then begged me to shag her. She fell asleep before anything could happen, however, and woke up in the morning without a single memory of the event.

But that didn't mean her calling me "Scor" wasn't weird.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Well, you and your bloody pygmy puffs," she grumbled, putting her head back down on the table to try and combat the hangover.

"You called me Scor," I replied, frowning at her.

"I did?" she asked. "Whoops. It won't happen again, Blondie."

I rolled my eyes.

"Rose, why is it that you never call Will or Scor or me by our proper names?" Sam Baker piped up from his seat next to Al.

Sam Baker does not get enough credit. Will is an undisputed genius when it comes to Transfiguration, what with being a full Animagus by fifth year. But whatever Will is to Transfiguration, Sam is like that to Charms, except on every sort of crack you can dig up out of your evidence locker. Sam doesn't just know pretty much every charm ever created by wizard-kind, he also creates them like it's nothing. I have a theory that it's because he grew up a Muggle and didn't know any of the rules of the magical universe, so when he got to Hogwarts he figured things out because no one had ever told him he couldn't. He's also got a severe problem with honesty, which is why we keep him away from the law at all times.

"I do call you by your proper names!" Rose insisted hotly, lifting her head and glaring at him.

Sam raised his eyebrow.

For reasons I don't understand, Sam and Will had managed to acquire themselves the nicknames McGeek and Whateverthefuckhisnameis sometime in their first five years at Hogwarts. Prior to inducting herself into our group, Rose had only ever referred to them as such. By the time we left school, she tended to merely not refer to them by anything. I figure it was some sort of testament to the fact she was actually friends with them. You know how when you've got a set of really good friends and it's weird to call each other by name when you're talking to each other? You'll use their names when you're talking _about _them, but addressing them by name is just weird. Sorry. I digress.

"So jobs," Al prompted.

"Why are you so insistent about this?" Dylan asked, sounding mildly irritated.

"Because I know for a fact that'll be the first thing my parents ask me when I get home. 'So, Al, now that you've finished school, what will you be doing? Clearly, you won't be joining a professional Quidditch team like your brother or your mother before him, and I'd bet all the galleons in Gringotts that you're not going to be an Auror like your father so…'" Al imitated.

"I'll get it just as bad from my mum," Rose pointed out. "She wants me to be a lawyer like her."

"I'm so sorry," Dylan replied. "My parents don't even have any concept of what wizards do for jobs after they finish school, so I'm at least spared their scrutiny."

"I'm not," I said. "My grandmother wants me to be a Healer like my father."

"Somehow, I can't see you ever voluntarily fixing someone," Will commented.

"You don't know his grandmother," Em replied. "She's a proper fruit bat."

"Really?" Sam asked. "Is she an Animagus or something?"

The rest of us exchanged looks.

When I said Sam doesn't get enough credit, I meant it. It doesn't mean, however, that he has been underrated for no good reason. There are actually several good reasons. His idiosyncratic charms knowledge came at the price of sanity and social skills.

We spent the rest of the train ride blathering on about the fact our parents were all completely unreasonable regardless of whether they had been acquitted Death Eaters or the Chosen One. Will and I started up a game of Exploding Snap next to Rose's head once she fell asleep, because we happen to be equally awful people and delight in mocking those with self-inflicted physical ailments like hangovers. She wasn't happy with us, which was to be expected.

When we finally turned up in King's Cross, it was to discover that Rose and Al's parents were hanging about twenty or so feet from my parents, all looking deeply uncomfortable with the fact their children were undoubtedly sitting together.

Will was greeted by a small but pretty Asian woman and her tall blond husband. Em found herself dragged over to be introduced. The rest of us snickered to ourselves because we aren't nice people (although I'm sure you knew that. If we were, why would I be here, right?) and then climbed off the train. Dylan's parents looked just like him – average height with curly brown hair and glasses – to the end that it was actually sort of creepy. Sam's parents were smiling happily at him and pulled him into tight hugs. Sam's mother was blonde and round-faced and seemed sort of simple. I spent as much time as I did analysing their parents because it meant I didn't have to interact with my own.

They were distant my entire childhood. I know that's something criminals typically say, or whatever, that their parents didn't pay attention to them when they were kids and they grew up to be fucked up and twisted in the head because of it. But since I'm only a criminal by accident, I think they can be excused their negligence. At least, in that regard.

Rose and Al's parents hugged them and told them how proud they were that they had finished school with top marks and all, and then had to hang around waiting for Lily Potter and Hugo Weasley – yeah, I'm sure you've heard of them too. Lily was too busy snogging her then-boyfriend Lorcan Scamander to get off the train, and Hugo was busy trying to convince a Hufflepuff to go out with him.

Hugo Weasley has hated me and everything I could ever possibly stand for for as long as I've known him. I think it started because I got sorted into Gryffindor and he didn't – he was a Ravenclaw, just like you McFarlane – and spent more than a few hours of his life chucking dinner plates at my head across the Great Hall. I'm told he's an excellent Ultimate Frisbee player, whatever in Merlin's name that might be. In our fifth year, Will dyed his hair neon pink, and he hadn't forgiven any of us for that just then. I mean, he still hates me desperately, but at least it's not for being in Gryffindor anymore.

I only bring up Hugo because, unfortunately for my sanity, he comes back later.

"How was your last term?" Dad asked once I finally dragged my trunk over to him.

"Erm…" I said, considering which of my various activities would make him cringe more. "I was bequeathed the gift of confidence by Godric Gryffindor's own personal watch-lion and promptly lost the ability to give a fuck what anyone thinks about me?"

My parents stared at me for a very long moment. I had never sworn in front of them. To be honest, I had been just as distant as they had. I never really sought them out. I never had reason to. I had managed to survive puberty without parents or friends, which thinking back, was actually a huge accomplishment.

"You're not still…with the pygmy puffs?" Dad asked, sounding pained.

I pulled my pet pygmy puff from my pocket and let it perch on my shoulder. "Yes Dad. Puff pride and all."

I left him standing there in horrified shock and turned to say goodbye to everyone.

"Well, I think I've firmly convinced my father I'm gay," I said. Dylan and Al snorted with laughter. "Also, a Hufflepuff sympathiser."

"There's nothing wrong with Hufflepuffs," Dylan pointed out.

"Yes, I know that, but he's a Slytherin," I reminded him.

"Hey," Em replied.

"Tell him we're dating," Al suggested. "Just freak him the hell out."

I considered for a moment, then shrugged. Rose rolled her eyes.

"See you all later," I said, lifting a hand in greeting. They all chorused their various goodbyes and I headed back to my parents. "Well, shall we?"

They looked deeply disturbed by everything I had said so far, but together we apparated back to the family manor.

Malfoy Manor is dark, dismal, and deeply unappealing. That's all you really need to know about it. Well, that, and it's a really fucking awful place to grow up. Since he grew up there and his parents were even worse than mine, it doesn't really surprise me my dad turned out the way he did.

"So who were your friends?" Mum asked as we walked through the foyer to the dining room. Our house elves had prepared dinner and my grandmother was already sitting at the table. We took our places and dinner was served.

"You know," I said. "Two are Muggleborn, that's Sam and Dylan. Em, of course. Her boyfriend Will, Rose Weasley, and Al Potter."

"Al Potter," Dad repeated with a tinge of disdain in his voice.

"Oh come on, Dad," I said cheerfully. "I've told you that before. And you'd best get used to the idea, since he's my boyfriend."

A dark, oppressive silence fell over the table. I smiled happily around at my family before they could say anything, and picked up my plate.

"I think I'll just eat this upstairs in my room," I announced, and then I left them there in their shock.

OOooOOooOOooOO

It helped that Al took to turning up at odd hours, just to confuse my parents. Everyone else turned up as well, but they took the direct route and simply apparated to my bedroom, while Al made sure to Floo into the living room, smile broadly at my parents, and then waltz into my room.

"I think I broke them," I said, peering out my door at my unsettled parents. I could just see their faces at the bottom of the stairs.

"No offence, but your parents could use with a little breaking," Em replied. She was sitting on my floor while Rose fixed her hair. It had been announced that in honour of Em's seventeenth birthday, and my eighteenth, we would be going to the Leaky Cauldron and would not be leaving while any of us – except Al – could walk.

"I really hate being designated care giver," Al commented, flopping onto my bed in despair.

"Would you rather be designated care giver or an only partially functional alcoholic like you were before?" Rose asked.

Al dismissed her with a backwards wave of his hand.

"Here, wear this," Dylan declared, smacking me in the head with a black t-shirt for a Muggle band called the Cure. He followed it with a pair of jeans I never wore and a Muggle suit jacket.

"Erm…why?" I asked as he shoved me into my bathroom so I could get dressed with some semblance of dignity. I had shared a room with Al for seven years, and grown up with Em. Rose had attempted to unclothe me once, and I didn't really care either way if any of them saw me in just my pants, but I figured if my parents turned up for a surprise "Yes the Muggles were sort of right about this one, always wear a condom" lecture, as they had taken to doing, it would be best if I wasn't mostly naked in a room full of people.

After I was clothed, I returned to the room in time for Rose to get far too close and run her fingers through my hair. Naturally, because it was Rose, she couldn't do it in some civilised way where she made me sit on the floor and then fixed it. No, she got so close I could feel the heat from her body and then stood on her toes so she could play with my hair while she breathed on my neck.

"Why?" I asked when she stopped. She smirked mysteriously at me. "I'm being conspired against, aren't I?"

"Yes," Sam agreed.

"Why?" I demanded, shooing Rose before she could start fussing with my hair again and make me more uncomfortable.

"Because it's been decided that while the rest of us aren't to leave the pub until we can't walk, you're to stay there until you're not a virgin," Em replied, grinning evilly at me.

I blinked at her stupidly. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"It's been decided that you're not allowed to leave the pub until you've found yourself a girl," Will explained. "Because it is unseemly to be eighteen and, well, you, and still be-"

"So's Sam!" I pointed out, gesturing wildly at him.

"What?" Sam asked, looking up from his Charms notebook. The rest of us glanced at him and I realised why my argument was ineffective.

"But-" I started to protest.

"Shut up," Al recommended, before he dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. My parents were lurking near the bottom of the stairs, and they jumped when we walked down.

"We're going for drinks to celebrate his birthday," Al announced, his arm clamped tightly around me. I managed to smile at my parents before Al disapparated and dragged me along with him.

"I don't like you people," I informed him upon our arrival at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Seriously, mate? We're trying to help you," Al replied, flagging the barmaid over.

"Your definition of 'help' is deeply flawed," I said.

Al waved me away dismissively. "Hi," he said to the barmaid. "My friend here would like a Firewhiskey."

"And for you?" she asked.

"I'll stick with water," Al replied, remarkably able to mask the bitterness in his voice.

She nodded and walked away.

Within moments, we were joined by everyone else, who crowded into our booth and made sure to leave me at the very edge.

"I've got the first round," Al announced.

The barmaid brought us each a glass of Firewhiskey and we drank deeply.

"Alright, we need to scope out a girl for Scorpius," Dylan said, scanning the pub. I sank deeper in my seat and tried to pretend I couldn't hear him.

At that point – and at many points since then – I deeply regretted not shagging Rose when I had the opportunity. Partly, I wanted to see the look on her face when I informed her she had claimed to fancy me. She didn't and I was curious how appalled she would be if she knew what she had said.

Unfortunately, it didn't happen, because Em tapped Dylan on the shoulder and nodded to a girl around our age sitting at the bar.

She had long, sort of wavy strawberry hair with a purple underside. I couldn't see her face, but she was wearing a very short skirt – Rose short, in fact – and she had nice legs.

"Scor, you've got the next round," Dylan informed me, shoving me towards the bar.

I glared daggers at him and walked over to the bar, determined to not listen to them.

"Hi," I said to the barmaid. "We need refills."

"Sure, love, just give us a moment," she replied, bustling around behind the bar.

The girl was drinking a pint of dark beer and had black glasses perched on a perfectly straight nose. Her eyes were heavily outlined in black, which made them bright blue. I only noticed because she was staring at me.

"Hi," I said awkwardly. Whatever confidence I might have received from Gryffindor's watch-lion had apparently not translated to the ability to talk to girls.

"Hi," she echoed, looking amused.

Before I could say anything, or pretend I hadn't said anything to begin with, Al appeared next to me to collect our drinks.

"Hi, this is Scorpius, he's hopelessly terrible at talking to girls, but he thinks you're pretty," Al informed the girl, snatching the tray of drinks before I could, forcing me onto the stool next to the girl, and then disappearing back across the pub. Thankfully, he left me my drink.

"Sorry, wasn't that Harry Potter's son?" the girl asked, and I noticed she was very clearly American.

I was still pink from Al's various assessments of my character. "Erm, yeah, it was," I agreed. "You know about him in the States?"

"Oh," she said, looking embarrassed. "No, not really, but I'm not really American."

"You're not?" I asked. I reflected that Al was sort of right, and I did sort of think she was pretty.

"My mom's American," she explained. "And my dad's English, so I had to go to school in America because my mom couldn't stand to have me be across an ocean from her but I couldn't stand it there, and since I just graduated, I got on the next plane to London and I am never going back and sorry that's way too much information and I haven't even told you my name yet."

She said it all on one breath, and I blinked at her in shock.

"I have problems with over sharing," she said. "I'm Isobel."

"It's nice to meet you, Isobel," I replied. She grinned at me. She wasn't as pretty as Rose, but that was an unfair standard by which to measure girls. "So your parents are…"

"Divorced," she said. "Thank god. I think I'd go crazy if I had to live with them both. But my mom happens to be a Muggle, and when she found out about my dad she decided to drag me back across the ocean to Georgia and barely even let me visit. But I'm here now."

"Oh," I said, taking a drink of my Firewhiskey.

"So you probably went to Hogwarts, didn't you?" she asked. "Was it as amazing as they say? I don't think I'm ever going to forgive my mother for not letting me go."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I assured her, even though it was. "All the professors are complete cowboys, so I wouldn't worry about it."

"Sorry?" she asked, looking bewildered.

"Erm, never mind," I said, deciding against using any sort of Muggle slang I had overheard.

"Alright," she said, laughing softly. "So you're here with your friends?"

I glanced back over at them and they all gave me encouraging faces, and in Will's case, crude hand gestures. I turned back around.

"Nope," I said.

She laughed for real this time. "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"Sure," I said. She raised her eyebrow slightly. "Al's routinely full of shit, and he only dragged me to the pub with the intention of getting me laid, but yes, I think you're pretty."

She blinked at me, looking like she couldn't decide whether or not to be amused.

"I was not supposed to mention that, was I?" I asked, finishing off my drink. I could feel the alcohol burning in the back of my throat and I had lost most of the sensation in my hands at that point.

"Probably not, but the honesty is refreshing," she replied. "Better than, 'no, I'm not trying to get any, but hey, maybe I should walk you home because you're so drunk.'"

"Did some prick really do that to you?" I asked.

"No, no," she assured me, spinning her pint glass and refusing to meet my eyes. "I, uh, did that to some prick, but anyway…"

I blinked at her in shock.

"Your friends aren't going to let you leave if you try to leave alone, are they?" she asked.

"No," I agreed.

"This is an inn, isn't it?" she asked.

"I believe so," I agreed. "Why?"

In response, she kissed me softly. I was too drunk to really be surprised, so I skipped that step in favour of kissing her back.

To my sometimes-chagrin, my first kiss had been as a diversion back in fifth year when Rose grabbed me, made me grope her arse, and then snogged me. The second girl I had kissed was Will's little sister in sixth year, because she had grabbed me, snogged me, and then told Will about it to try and make him mad. Fortunately for my continued existence, he didn't get mad at me, just at her for trying to take advantage of his poor, socially inept friend.

This made Isobel the first girl to kiss me with actual intention.

Eventually she stopped kissing me and slid off her stool.

"Wait here," she instructed, and then she walked down the bar to talk to the innkeeper.

In her absence, Will showed up next to me to order the next round, whereupon he very stealthily slipped a handful of something into my pocket.

"What was that?" I asked suspiciously.

"You'll thank me in about ten minutes," he promised, collecting his drinks and disappearing back to the table.

Isobel returned at that moment and kissed me again. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me off the stool and towards the stairs. On our way by their table, my friends raised their glasses in our direction, and Isobel blew them a kiss.

She led me up the stairs to a room and unlocked the door before she pulled me inside and kissed me again.

* * *

"She was quite a good kisser, actually," I continued, slightly lost in the memory.

"Mr Malfoy-" McFarlane interrupted.

"Please call me Scorpius," I said.

McFarlane looked deeply uncomfortable with this and I smirked to myself. "Would you mind explaining to me how any of this is relevant? Do you really mean for the story of how you lost your virginity-" his face turned an uncomfortable shade of plum "—to be on the public record?"

"Oh, McFarlane," I said. "Don't tell me you're a fifty year old virgin."

McFarlane gave me a death glare.

"It's relevant, I promise," I said. I considered. "Well, the sex isn't relevant, but Isobel certainly is."

"You're still in contact with her?" McFarlane asked, looking deeply confused. "Isobel what?"

"Cartwright," I replied cheerfully. "I mean, I didn't know that then, but-"

"Wait, Cartwright?" McFarlane repeated, looking unnerved. "As in Peter Cartwright?"

"Indeed yes," I agreed.

McFarlane continued to look horribly confused, and now slightly disturbed. "Very well," he said. "Continue with your story."

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	3. Our House in the Middle of Our Street

**A/N: In which suddenly! Plot! Thanks for the reviews, Prunella7, KeishaM, FairyLightsandGlitter, District 9 3-4**

Chapter Two - Our House in the Middle of Our Street (Or the Creepiest Place in Wizarding Britain, but Anyways)

Isobel kicked me out of her hotel room at four thirty in the morning. She had absolutely no interest in starting anything beyond one-night-stand territory, and had no desire to cuddle or whatever it was people normally did after sex, so I collected myself as best I could and apparated back to my bedroom before I collapsed on my bed and slept for approximately a full twenty-four hour day.

When I woke up the next day, it was to discover my father sitting in the armchair next to my bedroom window. I stared at him for a long while and he stared back. When I sat up and realised I was still wearing my clothes from the night before, the remaining condoms Will had given me fell out of my pocket and onto the floor where they lay in full view of my father.

I don't know who was responsible for this, but whoever decided to make Hogwarts House themed condoms is forever and always going to be lauded in my mind. The few I had left were all Gryffindor coloured and my father stared at them for a long time before he folded his newspaper with a snap.

"Your mother and I have conferred," he said. "We've decided you should move out."

I blinked at him. "Sorry, what?"

I just wanted to take a shower. I didn't want to have any sort of life-altering conversation with my father.

"We think you should find yourself a flat and a job and start acting like an adult," he elaborated. As though to contradict everything he had just said, my pygmy puff, Tribble, rolled through the room, paused at the condoms, picked one up in his tiny paws, and then scampered away squeaking.

"As soon as possible," Dad finished, and then he left.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"He didn't really say 'as soon as possible' did he?" Al demanded when I relayed everything that had happened to them over coffee in Diagon Alley the next day.

"He did," I agreed.

"And sorry, how many condoms did you have left?" Will asked, staring at me in shock and confusion.

"Dunno," I said. "Four?"

"Why does it matter?" Em asked, sniffing Will's coffee to check that he wasn't drinking.

"Because I gave the boy, like, twelve or something," Will replied, looking impressed.

"Thirteen," I corrected, returning my attention to Al. "So, yeah. I have to find a flat."

"Good thing you've got tons of money," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, and what are the rest of us supposed to do when our parents kick us out?" Dylan asked. "Because I certainly don't have tons of money, and I'm relatively convinced I'm not alone in that."

"Jobs," Al said. "We're going to have to get jobs."

The rest of us agreed and stared out the windows into the Alley.

"Or we could put it off as long as possible," Rose said.

The rest of us agreed and headed out the door of the café. As I started walking around the shops looking for signs that said "For Rent," a hand grabbed my wrist and suddenly Rose was next to me.

Isobel might have been pretty, but Rose was beautiful. Her wide, chocolate eyes were framed softly by thick black lashes, and her button nose was splattered with freckles. She wore her hair straight and pinned back on one side, and always had more cleavage than socially acceptable. She looked like a pinup girl from the 1950s.

"So how was your night with the girl from the bar?" she asked, looking mischievous.

"Excellent," I replied.

"I'd imagine so if you went through nine condoms," she said, slipping her hand into my back pocket like she intended to make me uncomfortable. To my surprise, it didn't make me uncomfortable. It barely even registered. But, it certainly spooked her when I dropped my arm across her shoulders and didn't react otherwise.

"I mean, it was a bit hard to walk afterwards, but still," I said with a shrug. "Have you noticed that sex is great for sobering you up?"

Rose raised her eyebrow at me. "I've never had sex drunk," she replied.

"Though not for lack of trying," I said with an evil smile on my face.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Oh nothing," I said dismissively. "Just the time you propositioned me while wasted."

This genuinely seemed to throw her for a loop. "I did not," she replied.

"Yes, actually, you did," I said. "Last night at Hogwarts. You asked me to put you to bed and then asked me to have sex with you."

She frowned at me. "And you didn't?"

"You fell asleep," I said with a shrug.

It had taken Rose and me a long time to actually consider each other friends. It had been established halfway through seventh year after we found Hufflepuff's tomb, but it hadn't really been realised until that moment walking through Diagon Alley. I suppose some people would call it the Friend Zone or something hideously ominous like that. I think that if we had shagged that night back at Hogwarts, we would probably never have been friends, at least not proper friends. But from that moment on, we were friends. Good friends at that.

It took me a while, but I eventually found a flat in Diagon Alley. Well, sort of.

"Sorry, did you say Knockturn Alley?" my mother demanded while I packed my things up.

"I did," I agreed cheerfully.

"But-" she protested.

"It's a four bedroom flat for dirt cheap," I replied. "It's a steal really. I've been given full licence to modify it as I see fit, so that'll be fun. I think the bloodstains in the bathroom have made it a hard sell, but hey, they hadn't been banking on the unemployed recent Hogwarts graduate."

She stared at me aghast with her mouth hanging open. I vanished my stuff and then waved at her cheerfully before disapparating.

I've always had a talent for pissing people off, but it was never really intentional until my fifth year. Until then, I had merely been bitter about my talent.

My apartment really was terrible, but it was only 100 galleons a month, so I figured I could deal with it. At that rate, I could afford to stay there for eight years and four months without having to work.

I had only just managed to put my belongings in my room when there was a sharp knock on my door. Given the neighbourhood, I checked through the peephole to discover Will.

Frowning, I opened the door. He had a giant duffle-bag slung over his shoulder and looked deeply apologetic. Since it was not his standard – has never been his standard – form of expression, I was curious.

"They started saying nasty shit about Slytherins," he said as though this explained everything, and then brushed past me into the main room. "This place is a hell hole."

"Yes," I agreed, closing the door behind him. "Might I ask what you're doing here?"

"My parents started saying nasty shit about Slytherins and that they didn't like the fact I'm dating one, and so I ditched," he explained. "And I've met Sam's parents, who would be a little too enthusiastic to have me stay, and Dylan's parents would charge me rent, and Em's parents-"

"Are about as enthused by her dating a Ravenclaw as yours are by you dating a Slytherin?" I suggested.

"Pretty much," he agreed. "Also, I'm relatively convinced they would point blank forbid me from ever having sex with her under their roof, so…"

I considered my aunt and uncle for a moment. My uncle Blaise Zabini – yes, the owner of the publishing syndicate – had been a little overzealous about making sure Em and I were well versed on birth-control practices at a very young age. Now I know that it's because he's one for having affairs, as is my aunt Daphne, but they'll never get divorced because they just…won't. Oddly, they're good friends, but they don't ever sleep together. Unlike my parents, who can only stand each other in small doses and those doses are usually dinner followed by very, very boring sex. Say whatever you want about my dad's family, but they have never been unfaithful.

"No, I think it would probably just be because of the Ravenclaw thing," I said. "My aunt Daphne gave her a box of condoms for her fifteenth birthday."

Will processed this information for a while. "They went to good use," he said finally.

"You know I'm going to charge you rent as well, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, but your rent's, what? Twenty galleons a month?" he asked.

"An even hundred," I replied. "Split it down the middle?"

"Works for me," he agreed, dragging his duffle bag into one of the rooms.

We'd been there for about a week before Em came to visit. She took one look at the grey walls and peeling paint and bloodstains in the bathroom (unfortunately, that hadn't been a joke to freak out my mother) and stopped in her tracks.

"No," she said calmly. "No, no."

"No what?" Will asked from the kitchen. In proper eighteen-year-old bachelordom, we had taken to spending most of our time eating pre-processed food in nothing but our pants because it was less effort. It didn't help that there was no form of central air-cooling and it was August in London.

"No," Em repeated, smiling at him cheerfully and disapparating.

"The fuck just happened?" Will asked me. I shook my head in confusion and went back to hunting flies with an impediment curse.

Within about an hour, Em reappeared with Al, Dylan, Rose, and Sam in tow. They were each laden with things like sponges and cleaning solution, and paint.

"Erm…" I said when they shoved past me into the apartment with their various supplies.

"Is this a standard Wizarding dwelling?" Dylan asked in apparent horror, looking around at the flat.

"No," Rose, Em, Will, Al, and I chorused.

"At least that's comforting," Dylan said, waving his wand. The moth-eaten curtains flew away from the windows and showered dust across the bare living room floor. We hadn't managed to acquire furniture beyond our beds and wardrobes.

Almost immediately, they put us to work cleaning and dusting and then painting. Will and I got absolutely no say in the matter, which I thought was sort of bitterly ironic since we were the ones who actually lived there.

Once it got to be about nine at night, we were all exhausted, but the place actually looked habitable.

"Well, I'm completely covered in dust, so I think I'll take a shower," Em announced, heading for the bathroom.

"Coincidentally, so am I," Will replied, smiling lecherously at her. "Might I join you to conserve water?"

"Use a silencing charm," Dylan, Al, Rose, and I shouted after them while they disappeared into the bathroom. I now knew from personal experience that sex could get quite loud, and I had absolutely zero desire to hear the inner workings of my flatmate's relationship with my cousin.

"You do realise that you're going to need furniture, don't you?" Al asked, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall of the kitchen.

"I have furniture," Sam piped up unexpectedly from the kitchen where he seemed to be chopping vegetables.

"Sorry, are you cooking?" I asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Do you lot like Italian?" he asked, smiling at us. I realised my confusion was mirrored by the rest of my friends.

"Erm…yeah," Dylan said, continuing to look bewildered.

"Since when do you cook?" Rose asked curiously.

"Always," Sam replied.

The rest of us exchanged looks.

"Really?" Al asked.

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "My gran's from Genoa so I always cooked with her," he explained.

"So you can do things besides Charms," Dylan said.

"Pretty much anything that starts with a C," Sam replied.

"Cleaning, cooking, charms, and that's about as far as I get before it gets dirty," Rose listed.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"So Sam would be the perfect housewife?" Al asked.

"Like you'd have any use for any sort of wife," Dylan pointed out.

"Yeah, but neither would you, so…" Al retorted without missing a beat. They glared at each other for a moment, and then went back to watching Sam cook with fascination. "Sam, you're not by chance gay, are you?"

"No," Sam replied. "And even if I was, you wouldn't be my type."

When the rest of us glanced at each other again, I was sure that they were also thinking that we had been bad friends since we had never asked Sam anything about his life. Until we had got to be friends with him, he was just that weird Ravenclaw called McGeek who was unhealthily good at Charms. After we got to be friends with him, he was that weird Ravenclaw called Sam who was unhealthily good at Charms and also made me look socially competent.

"Who would be your type?" Dylan asked, sounding curious.

"Out of you lot?" Sam asked, glancing around at us. He shrugged. "It'd probably end up being Scorpius since he's blond."

Once Sam turned back to his cooking, Rose nudged me slightly with her elbow. "We need to find Sam a girl," she whispered. I nodded in agreement.

Before we could even start in that endeavour, Sam moved into our flat and brought his furniture with him. He had a full dining table, several bookshelves, a sofa, and his own personal furniture for his room. None of us had jobs yet, but our rent was down to thirty-three galleons, five sickles, and nineteen knuts. It was rather manageable.

Dylan was the next to turn up, and by that point, it didn't even faze me. He showed up with his Hogwarts trunk full of his things, nodded at me once, and took over the empty fourth bedroom.

Em spent most of August living with us as well, since she was going to need to return to Hogwarts at the end of the month. Unfortunately, this meant she tended to pop into my room uninvited and pester me about things. We had spent our childhood together, but hadn't been friends during the first three years we shared at Hogwarts. Mostly, it was because we were in both different houses and different years so there was no reason to befriend each other. Then, we ruthlessly fucked Slytherin House for revenge, and she helped us. This made her literally the only person in my entire family I could stand. Actually, she still is, but that's sort of beside the point.

"Whatever happened to the girl from the bar?" she asked, wandering into my room with a piece of toast in her mouth, wearing one of Will's Quidditch shirts, and straightening her hair with her wand. I admired her ability to multitask.

"Isobel," I replied, setting my book down.

"What happened to her?" Em asked, tucking her leg under her and sitting on the end of my bed.

"I dunno," I replied. "She kicked me out at four in the morning and it's not like we exchanged contact information or anything."

"Fair enough," she said. "So it was just a one night stand?"

"Yeah," I agreed, deciding to embrace the fact it made me sound like a whore. "So how's Will?"

"Incredible," she replied with a dreamy smile. I tried not to feel ill. "Take care of him when I'm stuck at school."

"I will not be stepping into your shoes, thank you very much," I said.

"That's not what I meant," she replied, giving me a bad look. I made a face at her and picked my book up again.

OOooOOooOOooOO

It was a week after she went back to Hogwarts when our front door opened and Rose walked in. Dylan and Will were playing Exploding Snap where you had to take a drink every time the cards exploded (they were halfway to black-out drunk at that point), Sam was reading _Challenges in Charming_ and taking notes on its various inaccuracies, and I was peacefully writing an angry letter to the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ about their recent article that happened to perpetuate the stereotypes of the Hogwarts Houses.

"Evening," Rose said, smiling at the lot of us. Her short skirt was practically glued to her arse and barely covered it, and the filmy shirt she was wearing was mostly see-through. I knew exactly how drunk Will was based on his inability to do anything besides stare at the red lace bra visible through her cream-coloured shirt. I couldn't blame my staring on alcohol consumption.

"Hi Rose," I said, staring at her in confusion.

"Which room is mine?" she asked, dragging her Hogwarts trunk into the room.

"Sam's!" Will and Dylan suggested enthusiastically. They tried to high-five each other, but missed spectacularly due to their level of inebriation.

"Fine, but I'm sharing with one of you," Sam replied serenely from the sofa.

"We shared a room for seven years," Will said.

"So you shouldn't mind if you share it for a while longer, right?" Rose asked, waltzing down the hall to Sam's room and removing his things to Will's room.

The moment she was gone, Will and Dylan stared around the den in confusion.

"Did Rose just move in?" Dylan asked finally.

"Yep," I agreed.

We barely had three days to adjust to this new development when Al turned up.

"'But you're my last child home!'" he quoted in a rough approximation of his mother's voice. "'You can't leave me here!' 'Get out while you can, mate,'" he continued in his dad's voice. He looked around at all of us. "So which one of you sorry fuckers am I sharing a room with?"

"Me," I offered. It would be weird for him to share with Rose, and weirder for him to share with Dylan.

"Right then," Al said, dragging his things into my room.

Rose popped out of her room to help Al unpack while Dylan slithered back into his room to avoid Al's presence. Sam, Will, and I glanced around at each other for a moment.

"Em's moving in the minute she finishes school, isn't she," I said. It wasn't really a question, more an eventuality I was attempting to prepare myself for.

"Yeah," Will agreed. "At which point, Sam, you get to go share a room with Dylan."

"Fair," Sam replied, going back to his draft of an article for _Challenges in Charming_.

I shook my head and had just picked up my book when Rose wandered into the living room.

"We're out of shampoo and I need to take a shower," she announced.

"Then go get shampoo," Will suggested.

"I would, but it's Scorpius's turn to venture into the real world," Rose replied, smiling sweetly at him with a sinister look in my direction.

I glared at her and huffed out of the house towards the general store that could be found halfway down the Alley. No sooner had I stepped out of Knockturn Alley than I ran into a petite girl with pretty green eyes.

"Sorry," she said, looking too pissed off to really be sorry.

"It's fine," I assured her.

She looked me over once and then her eyes narrowed. "You're Scorpius Malfoy, aren't you?"

"Erm…yes?" I said, wondering what she could possibly want from me.

"I was two years ahead of you at Hogwarts," she replied, thus alleviating me of needing to somehow remember who she was.

"Okay," I said, still wondering what she wanted.

"You're the one who did all those nasty things to the Slytherins, right?" she asked.

"To be fair, they did nasty things to me first," I replied. "Why?"

She smiled evilly. "Because if you're still in the business of doling out nasty things, I might just have a job for you."

**Review!**


	4. Gateway Drug

**A/N: So I don't really like this chapter. But I think I should get points for writing it so quickly. Right? Actually, I really don't like this chapter, but anyways. **

Chapter Three - Gateway Drug

Her name was Elizabeth Cleary. She had been in Ravenclaw and her boyfriend of six years had been in Gryffindor. However, said boyfriend had recently taken to shagging one of his co-workers at the Ministry. Elizabeth didn't take kindly to this situation and desperately wanted someone to fuck his life up.

The best part was, she was willing to pay us, especially if we could get the asshole boyfriend to see the error of his ways and beg Elizabeth to take him back.

"I won't do it," Elizabeth assured us. "But I'd really love it if he came crawling back and begged like the worthless dog he is."

"And you said you'd pay us," Rose said, scanning Elizabeth with a calculating look in her eye.

"Whatever expenses you need and then, say, a hundred galleons? As long as it can't be traced back to me," she replied.

"That's a full month's rent," Sam pointed out.

Will shushed him.

"So were you thinking public embarrassment, or do you really want him to suffer?" Al asked.

"Both?" Elizabeth suggested.

"And what about the girl he's cheating with?" Dylan asked.

"I wouldn't say _irreparable _psychological damage, but…" Elizabeth started.

"But you would," Rose finished.

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "We were together for six years. And then this."

"We'll need his name, and which department of the Ministry he works for," I said.

Elizabeth wrote them down for us, and then paid us fifty galleons up front and left.

"So what do you think?" Will asked. "Because I'm thinking we make them hate each other, but leave them irrevocably stuck together."

"Works for me," Dylan agreed. "So…let's see. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures-"

"I volunteer!" I said.

My pygmy puff, Tribble, had found himself a lady friend during our stay in the flat and as I spoke, they tumbled through the room followed by a chain of duckling-like baby pygmy puffs.

"You have problems," Rose informed me.

"Yes," I agreed. "Rose, you do realise you're going to have to come with me, right?"

"Why?" she asked, looking displeased.

"Because you're the only girl we've got," Al pointed out.

Rose grumbled, but on Monday we found ourselves interviewing for positions in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I was hired on the spot, and I discovered quickly that Rose was as well. Our respective interviewers led us to the cubical-ridden pen that substantiated the Department.

"So Mr Malfoy, this will be your desk," the witch said, pointing at a carefully blank and dull cubicle that included a desk, a filing cabinet, and an inbox/outbox combination.

"Lovely, thanks," I said, sitting down and pretending to be professional.

Rose's desk was four rows down from mine. If we both stood up, we could just make eye-contact through the permanent cloud of flying purple memos and miniature owls that made up the atmosphere of the Department.

I had been sitting at my desk for approximately three minutes when a brusque, overly-inflated asshole I had known at Hogwarts happened by me. He stared down at me for a long moment.

"You work here?" he asked, frowning at me.

"Just got hired," I replied. "I didn't know you worked here."

But it was a blatant lie, because he just so happened to be the ass I had been hired to ruin.

"For almost two years. Technically, I think I might be your boss," he replied.

"That's nice," I said, smiling cheerfully at him. He gave me a disturbed look and handed me a stack of papers.

"Summarise these complaints and have them on my desk by tomorrow," he instructed, and then he wandered off.

He was halfway down the row when he stopped to talk to one of my new co-workers. She had curly brown hair and pretty blue eyes and the top button of her blouse was undone. While he talked to her, his hand ghosted over one of her breasts and made itself familiar with the edge of her bra. She flushed, but didn't seem to mind. I rolled my eyes and turned to read the reports he had given me. They were all complaints from the goblins demanding equal rights with wizards.

I waited until he was long gone back to his desk – fortunately all the way across the department – and made my way over to her desk.

"Hi," I said, smiling at her uncertainly.

"Hello," she replied, buttoning the top button on her blouse as subtly as possible.

"Sorry, I'm new here, and I don't really know what I'm doing," I said.

"Oh!" she said, brightening up and smiling at me. "I can help with that. Did Alden just give you reports to summarise?"

"Alden?" I asked, playing stupid. "You mean O'Neill?"

"Right, of course," she said, blushing again. "O'Neill."

She explained what I was supposed to be doing and then shooed me back to my desk. I finished my assignment in about twenty minutes and spent the rest of my day writing a proposal for pygmy puff classifications. I figured that while I was there I could at least try to do something productive with my time.

"So how did it go?" Dylan asked when Rose and I got back that night.

"We got hired, acquired our respective marks," Rose summarised. "Blondie got to push his pygmy puff agenda."

"It's not an agenda!" I insisted, loosening my tie and taking off my robes.

"Right," Rose replied, rolling her eyes. "It's funny, I think our target actually hit on me when we were at Hogwarts."

"And you didn't sleep with him?" Al asked.

"He had a girlfriend," Rose pointed out. "Even I wasn't that much of a slag."

"Right," I replied in my disbelieving tone. "And how many times, exactly, did you decide to use my tongue as a distraction?"

"You keep bringing that up like it was a big deal," Rose said dismissively, grabbing a pint out of the fridge and drinking deeply.

"Em and I corresponded about potions," Will said. "She sent me a recipe that should taste exactly the same. She also would have us know that this is part of the plan she does not agree with."

"I don't either," Rose replied.

"What would you like us to do instead?" Dylan asked.

Rose shrugged. "I didn't say I wouldn't go through with it, I'm just saying that if it was me, I would violently murder whoever did this to me," she said. "Remember the bloodstains in the bathroom when we moved in? That would be whoever was responsible."

"Yeah, well, fortunately you're on the proper side of the arrangement," Al pointed out.

Rose nodded in agreement. "Well, I think I'm going to turn in early. I've got to write a report on dragon sentience tomorrow."

"Ew, really?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Rose agreed. "Goodnight!"

She wandered back to her room.

"Maybe she's right," I said. "Maybe this is mean."

"I think that's sort of the point," Sam replied.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Oh come on," I begged in my most earnest voice. The girl Alden O'Neill was shagging was named Sarah. My conscience wouldn't let me learn her last name.

"I can't," she replied, laughing slightly and continuing to write her report.

"But I don't know anyone else in the department except O'Neill and he hates my guts," I replied. Over the two weeks I had been working there, I had managed to develop a proper wide-eyed-innocent puppy-dog pout. I had been coached on it by Rose and Dylan.

"I can't have lunch with you," Sarah said, lightly pushing my chair away from her. I had rolled it down to her cubicle. Over the two weeks I had been working there, I had also become a very horrible person.

"Why?" I asked. "Have you got some beefy, horrible boyfriend?"

Sarah blushed and surreptitiously glanced towards O'Neill's office. I pretended not to notice.

"No, I don't," she said finally.

"Then why can't you have lunch with me?" I asked. "It's just food."

"Just food?" she repeated, looking for clarification.

"And maybe drinks," I admitted. "And excellent company."

She laughed for real. "Fine," she said.

"Great," I said, jumping out of my seat and pulling her to her feet, offering her the coat from the back of her chair, and ushering her out of the office.

"I forgot my wallet," she said, trying to break away from me to get it.

"My treat," I insisted. Firstly, I had the money to pay for it, and secondly, I could get Elizabeth to expense it for me.

"Are you sure?" Sarah asked.

"One hundred percent positive," I replied. I steered her out of the building and to a fancy restaurant not that far from the Ministry.

"This place is too nice," Sarah insisted.

"Not at all," I replied, flagging down the maître'd and getting us a table instantly.

Sarah looked uncomfortable but sat down. I watched her read the menu and tried to figure out what exactly would drive a person to sleep with someone who was already committed to someone else. I had heard boredom was a common cause, or a lack of desire to be with the other person anymore but no way to tell them that, but those were mostly from the side of the person cheating. I didn't understand what would make a single person go after someone in a relationship.

"So why were you so hesitant to have lunch with me?" I asked, ordering a bottle of wine from the waiter and pretending I knew what I was doing.

"I've sort of been seeing this guy, but he doesn't really – it's complicated," Sarah said.

"Complicated," I echoed, tasting the wine the waiter brought and then nodding in agreement. He wouldn't piss off until I did, so I went with it.

"It doesn't really matter," she said. "Didn't you turn the Slytherin Common Room pink a few years ago?"

"Erm…yeah, I did," I agreed.

"That was awfully funny," she said.

"Thanks," I said.

Overall the date went well. By the end of my third week in the Department, it became a regular occurrence. I was pretty sure she was still sleeping with O'Neill though, which actually played into our plan perfectly. I needed her to like me, but not enough to stop shagging him.

"Are we ready for the next step?" Rose asked after we'd been there a month. She had been doing the same thing to O'Neill that I had been doing to Sarah.

"Yeah," I agreed. Sam was ironing one of my shirts while Dylan went through Rose's closet to find her the proper dress for the evening. Dinner dates hadn't been approached as a topic over the past two weeks, so we were finally taking the plunge. I had a hard time imagining Rose on an actual date with O'Neill. The last date she had been on had also been as part of a scheme back in our seventh year when she had gone out with Ioan Finnegan to keep him distracted while we investigated Ravenclaw's supposed tomb. It was an unpleasant association since I had spent most of seventh year wanting to remove Ioan's intestines with a rusty spoon.

"I suppose it could be worse," Rose said, twirling her hair around her wand and leaving it in perfect curls. She normally wore her hair mostly straight, so it was a little disconcerting. Mostly because I wanted nothing more than to run my hands through those curls and see them splayed across a pillow, but at the time I wasn't in the mood to admit that to myself.

"Yeah, they could be painfully hideous and deformed," I agreed, collecting my shirt from Sam and buttoning it. Dylan and Al had expressly forbidden me from wearing a vest underneath much to my chagrin as it was almost November.

"I would never shag anyone hideous and deformed," Rose replied, rolling up her nylons. I figured it was a testament to our friendship that none of us blokes gave a shit that she was mostly naked in the living room. Well, Sam didn't like redheads – at least not genuine redheads, but more on that later – and Will was in a committed relationship. Dylan found most people with Rose's particular combination of chromosomes to be unappealing, and Al was biologically related to her. I was in most danger of leering, but managed to control myself.

"Here, wear this," Dylan instructed, appearing in the living room with a very short black dress that would surely hug every curve on Rose's body and present her truly fabulous breasts in the most alluring fashion possible. As soon as she was vacuum-sealed into it, the three straight guys in the room couldn't help but gawk.

"So it'll work then," she said, grinning cheerfully at us. "Well, I'm going to be late, so I'll see you lot later. Al, you've got the address right?"

"And I wish to every higher power that someone else had drawn this short straw," Al replied, smiling bitterly at her.

"I couldn't agree with you more," Will replied. Dylan and Sam snickered to themselves and then shooed us out.

I picked up Sarah at her flat and took her to one of the nicer Muggle restaurants in the area. She was rather pretty, so I could almost understand why O'Neill had decided to cheat on Elizabeth with her. Of course, Elizabeth was rather pretty as well, so it made the argument invalid.

Dinner went well. Actually, it went perfectly, because she invited me up for "coffee." Now, I'm sure you know this McFarlane, at least I hope, that when a girl invites you up for "coffee" after a very good date, it does not mean coffee. It means snogging in the den for a while, and then it means fondling, and then "Well, funny wouldn't you know it, my bedroom happens to be just there…"

And so we slept together, kind of a lot. At the time, Will was – to his deep chagrin – hiding in the closet with a camera. He had made Sam charm it so that it would take pictures automatically and he didn't have to look, which was probably for the best. The point was to get a good picture of her face while making it very clear what was going on.

Unlike Isobel, Sarah invited me to stay the night, so I did. It made it much easier to sneak into her bathroom, well, I didn't really have to sneak, and swap out her next month's birth control potion with the fake one Em had sent us.

To be honest, I did have a moment of conscience where I considered not doing it. Frankly, I think that might have been the exact moment where I let go of my last shred of human decency.

The funny thing was, and I was aware of it even then, that six months prior, I had delayed in shagging Rose because she was drunk. But the person standing in Sarah's bathroom changing out her birth control would not have hesitated in shagging Rose unless she was badly injured or something. I was able to reflect on that, acknowledge that I had become a terrible person, and then carry on with my business.

A few days later found the lot of us crowded around our dining room table riffling through the developed pictures to find the appropriate ones for blackmail purposes. We had decided unanimously to develop them the Muggle way so we didn't have to listen to the pictures. I'm told that Wizarding porn greatly surpasses Muggle porn for precisely that reason, but that's not what we were aiming for.

"Well, she certainly looks like she's enjoying herself," Dylan said, raising his eyebrow at one of the pictures of Sarah.

"She was," Will and I assured him in unison. I sounded slightly proud of myself, while Will sounded disturbed and like he might not willingly have sex for about a million years.

"And sorry, but…" Sam said, picking up one of the pictures of Rose and O'Neill. "Is that your leg?"

He looked deeply confused, so the rest of us crowded around the picture to figure out why. It was immediately apparent that it was, in fact, Rose's leg, and that it was not in any position a person's leg was supposed to be able to go.

"But how?" I asked.

"Flexibility," Rose replied. "Shall we prepare stage three?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

I'll spare you the details that make us sound like even more horrible people, but stage three involved getting O'Neill and Sarah very drunk and convincing them to make Unbreakable Vows with their new human toys that if they ever became parents, they would stick with the mother or father for as long as necessary to make the child a functional human being, and they would never hold their child responsible for anything. Ever.

Then came stage four, where we anonymously left the pictures on their desks. Of course, by that I mean we left the pictures of O'Neill shagging Rose on Sarah's desk, and the pictures of me shagging Sarah on O'Neill's desk. We picked pictures where you couldn't see our faces, so we were at least safe from their office wrath.

O'Neill, being a complete slimeball, dragged his sorry carcass back to Elizabeth and begged her to take him back. I'm told that the conversation went something like, "Please take me back, she cheated on me!"

Followed by Elizabeth laughing in his face and slamming the door on his fingers.

Of course, right up until the pictures turned up on their desks, O'Neill and Sarah had still been shagging. I think it takes a lot to be indignant with someone for cheating on you when you've been cheating on them as well, but indignant they were. Naturally, that was when Sarah's fake birth control kicked in and informed her she was pregnant.

Then, due to their Unbreakable Vows, they were forced to be together.

I'd like to point out that she wasn't actually pregnant. They figured it out eventually and broke up for good. They're both happily married now to other people and have children who are actually benefitting from the Unbreakable Vows we had them make.

Elizabeth came to congratulate us on our success very shortly after Rose and I quit our jobs at the Ministry.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she said, smiling at the lot of us. "I don't know how you did it, or what you did, but they look miserable, so thank you. Also, I wanted to give you lot a bonus."

She set a bag of money on the table between us which Sam quickly whisked off to count.

"So, thank you," Elizabeth said, heading out the door.

The lot of us sat around in silence for a while.

"I feel…dirty," Will said finally.

"Yeah," the rest of us agreed.

"Let's not do revenge again," Al suggested.

"Yeah," the rest of us agreed.

"She gave us 500 galleons," Sam announced, before all six of us resumed our staring at the door.

"So…maybe we just don't do revenge that involves sex," Dylan amended.

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed.

* * *

"You do realise that blackmail is illegal," McFarlane said, staring at me quizzically.

"You do realise who you're talking to," I replied in the same tone of voice.

"So are unregulated Unbreakable Vows," McFarlane continued. "Also, seeking employment for reasons unrelated to the actual job described."

"Yes, I realise that," I agreed. "It's also probably one of my most common crimes. Well, that and money laundering."

"You realise that you're a horrible person," McFarlane said.

"Yes," I agreed. I thought about it. "Well, only sort of."

"You're really going to defend your actions?" McFarlane asked. He stared at me like I couldn't possibly be serious.

"Not these actions," I said. "But a lot of them? Yeah. The O'Neill-Sarah-Elizabeth thing I actually regret. Not because it was a gateway to everything else I've done, but because it was actually mean."

"You have a conscience?" McFarlane asked, sounding incredulous.

"Believe it or not, yes, I do," I replied. "Do you mind if I continue my story now?"

**Review! Tell me how much you hate it. **


	5. Because Christmas Is a Time for Family

**A/N: Yay for updating! Also, thank you Guest for your continued patronage (I'm assuming you're the same Guest who read the other two and continues to not log in) and Charlottembp for reviewing. Also Prunella7 and FairyLightsandGlitter for reviewing. I promise I like this chapter better. It's less morally questionable. **

Chapter Four - Because Christmas Is a Time for Family. Just Not My Family

"They're at it again," Will said in early December, staring out the living room window and frowning at our down the street neighbours.

"What is it this time?" Sam asked from the kitchen where he seemed to be making a mince pie.

"Well, she's tossed all his things into the street from the window, and now he's trying to bribe her with some awful plant to let him back in," Will explained.

"What sort of awful plant?" I asked, joining him at the window.

It was a pointy-leafed plant that almost resembled a palm frond.

"It's the Wizarding equivalent of pot," Dylan explained, appearing on Will's other side.

"What's pot?" Will asked.

"Muggle drug," Dylan replied dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Interesting that he's trying to bribe his way back in with drugs."

"You do realise that approximately two thirds of our neighbours are drug addicts or drug sellers or thugs, right?" Al asked, leaning in the window next to me.

"Well, there was the bloke who got jumped outside Borgin and Burkes last week," Will said. "Anyone heard if he's out of the hospital?"

"He's not," I replied. "He's dead."

"Great, so we've got murderers living in our street," Dylan replied cheerfully.

"Scor, why do you know that?" Al asked.

"My dad was his attending," I explained. "He owled to inform me he does not approve of my living situation since some bloke was murdered not half a block from our flat."

"How'd that go over?" Will asked, sounding like he knew exactly how it had gone.

"I reminded him that he spent the better part of the nineties skulking down here with his dad and I've been uninvited from Christmas," I replied.

"Well done," Dylan said.

"Thanks," I replied, returning to watch our drug addled neighbours reconcile in the street and go about dragging Mr Pot's things back into the building.

"Tea's ready," Sam informed us as the oven started beeping.

To announce her perfect timing, Rose apparated into the living room at precisely that moment.

"Well I'm fucked," she declared, falling into one of the chairs at the dining table while Sam served dinner.

"By whom?" I asked, offering her a fork.

She shot me an annoyed look and tossed her hair irritably. "My parents found out where I live," she said.

"Cheers," I replied, grabbing several beers from the fridge and levitating them onto the table. Al didn't even glare at me, so I considered it to be progress.

"What are they going to do to you?" Will asked.

"Oh nothing," Rose replied. "Yet."

"Eventually, they'll turn up in horror and demand that Rose and I move out," Al added.

The rest of us shuddered in contemplation of that idea and then turned back to our dinner.

It turned out that Al's prediction was right, because not a week had passed before I walked home from the local grocery store – we'd taken to shopping for fresh produce at some store called Sainsbury's. It was Sam's insistence. As much as he was talented at Charms, he kept waffling on about Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and the long and short of it was we had all become well acquainted with Muggle money and the process of buying groceries – to discover a forty something brunette sitting on our sofa looking deeply uncomfortable.

She was quite shapely despite being the same age as my parents and it was only after I noticed her rather stunning chocolate eyes that I realised she was Rose's mother.

She raised one eyebrow at me and kept her arms crossed.

"You're Draco Malfoy's son," she informed me in a very prim voice.

"You're Rose Weasley's mother," I replied, doing my utmost to not mimic her tone.

"She didn't tell me she was living with…"

"A Malfoy?" I suggested. "Or did she just fail to mention that all five of her flatmates are blokes?"

Hermione Granger still looked deeply uncomfortable, but recovered slightly as she slowly came to the conclusion that I was exactly nothing like my father. Well, except for the illegal activities thing, but my illegal activities tend to harm fewer people than my father's ever did, and Hermione was not aware I was partaking in any at the time.

"Where is my daughter?" Hermione asked.

"I think she's still asleep," I replied. I woke up earlier than every single person I lived with by at least two hours.

"And, I'm sorry, but were you really just at Sainsbury's?" she asked, eyeing the grocery bags in my hand.

"Yeah," I agreed, setting them in the kitchen. "Why?"

"It's just…your father would probably pitch a fit if he knew you shopped at a Muggle store," she explained.

"Actually it would've been my grandfather, but thankfully for everyone he kicked it a few years back," I replied cheerfully.

"I would say I'm sorry for your loss but-"

"But no one was sorry to see him go," I interjected. "Especially my father."

We fell into awkward silence.

"He told me about you," I said finally, sitting down in one of the dining chairs and facing her. "Well, about the lot of you really. He mentioned something about our family owing you and Harry Potter and your husband a debt since you lot saved his life during the Battle of Hogwarts."

Hermione brushed her brown hair out of her eyes and straightened the collar of her shirt. "I'm afraid we told our children about your father as well," she said.

"I know," I replied with an unsettling smile. "Fortunately only one of them listened."

"Which would that be?" she asked.

"Your son," I replied. "Who spent the better part of the five years we were at school together hurling dinner plates at my head. Showing off all that Ravenclaw intelligence he got…"

Hermione looked almost like she wanted to apologise, but couldn't find it in herself.

"But I was friend with both James and Lily Potter since we all played Quidditch together, well, and Fred Weasley, and Dominique for about three years, and obviously Al and Rose," I listed. "But Hugo sort of always hated me."

Hermione looked uncomfortable again but before I could offer her tea or coffee or something, a door creaked open down the hall and Rose stumbled into the living room.

For seven years, I had laboured under the impression that Rose's hair was mostly straight and that she rolled out of bed looking deliciously perfect. Until we had all moved in together, the only time I had seen her before she had the opportunity to fix her face was when she woke up hung over in my bed, and simply managed to look like she was mildly nauseous and maybe as though she'd been fucked quite well the night before. Then we moved in together, and that illusion was shattered almost instantly.

It transpired that before she attacked it with a wand, Rose's hair existed in an untameable lion's mane of scarlet curls that tumbled in every single direction they possibly could and especially liked to stick straight up in the back. Before she put on lipstick in the morning, her lips were only a pale pink maybe two shades off from her skin, which was entirely plastered with freckles before she used some sort of magical makeup to cover them. And when I say she had freckles everywhere, I really meant it. All across her face and down her arms and on her chest and her legs, and I had once overheard her complain bitterly to Lily that she had never got a tan a day in her life because all she got was more freckles.

Frankly, as painfully attractive as Rose is once she's doctored herself, I like her better when she's in the couldn't-be-bothered-to-give-a-fuck state.

I mean, it helped that her general sleeping outfit was either a short nightdress that barely went halfway down her thighs, or a tight bodied vest that was practically suctioned onto her and managed to prop up her tits while the straps simultaneously fell off her shoulders, paired with very short shorts that only _just_ covered her arse.

To her credit, Hermione was not scandalised by her daughter's appearance. At that particular moment, I was still operating under the paradigm that I only thought of Rose as a friend, so I wasn't leering like I would now.

"Morning…Mum…" Rose said, scratching her head and wrinkling her nose in confusion at her mother.

"You really do live here?" Hermione asked as though this had been her last grasp on sanity.

"I really do," Rose agreed. "What are you doing here?"

"That's a fine way to greet your mother," Hermione replied, standing up and hugging Rose. I noticed when she did that they were precisely the same height, which was quite short. For instance, I am approximately a foot taller than Rose. Well, technically it's eleven inches, but what's wand length between friends.

"Sorry," Rose replied, hugging her back. "So what are you doing here? Besides checking to see if I actually live here."

"Mostly your father wanted to know if you were sleeping with any of the boys you live with," Hermione explained. "But I thought it might be better if I were the one to come visit since he would bring the full weight of the Auror squad down and probably ransack your apartment for anything he could use to arrest your flatmates."

"That's nice of him," I piped up from my chair. Both women ignored me.

"Which one would I be sleeping with?" Rose asked. "My cousin, his ex-boyfriend, the one with a steady girlfriend for two years, the socially inept virgin, or that?"

She gestured at me as the last bullet on her list. However, Rose knew, and I knew, and Hermione knew, that I was precisely the one Ron was worried about.

"Mostly he's worried about Malfoy," Hermione admitted.

"It's Scorpius," Rose corrected. I managed not to show my shock. She had called me by my actual name a grand total of three times in the two years we'd known each other, had called me Scor once, and generally referred to me as Blondie.

"And we're not sleeping together," I added. "I share a room with Al. I can't imagine he'd be too thrilled with me if I was shagging his cousin."

Hermione bristled, probably at my language which I think she considered to be vulgar, but she nodded anyway.

"Also, Rose, your father would have you know you're invited to stay with us for the week of Christmas," Hermione said.

"Great, thanks, but I can turn up at the Burrow on Christmas Eve from here," Rose replied. "Also, on that vein, I know Al meant to ask his parents, but do you mind if Scor comes to Christmas?"

"Sorry, what?" Hermione and I asked in perfect unison.

"He got disinvited from his family's Christmas, so I figured since we're all good friends, he could come," Rose explained.

"How did you get disinvited from your own family's Christmas?" Hermione asked me, frowning in my direction.

"My dad and I got in a tiff about my living arrangements," I explained. "He's about as thrilled by the fact we live in Knockturn Alley as you lot are."

"Didn't he spend most of our Hogwarts years down here?" Hermione asked, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't supposed to like me based solely on my parentage.

"That's what I pointed out," I replied. "And now I'm not invited to Christmas."

Hermione evaluated me for a long moment and then redirected her attention to Rose. "I suppose he can come," she said. "I'll ask Molly rather than your father or your uncle or your grandfather, since she's occasionally the most reasonable of the bunch."

"You could also mention that he's Teddy's second cousin," Rose added.

"I'm who's second cousin?" I asked.

"Teddy Lupin," Rose explained dismissively.

"You know, I had completely forgotten about that," Hermione replied.

"Most people do," Rose said. "Anyway, I'll let you go back to whatever it was you were doing before you stopped by."

I knew that had I used that particular dismissal on anyone in my own family, I would've been grounded for several years, or perhaps disinvited from Christmas again, but Hermione merely gave Rose an annoyed look as though she was used to it.

"We'll see you at Christmas," she said. "It was nice to meet you, Mal – Scorpius."

"You as well, Mrs Weasley," I replied cheerfully, almost certainly making her uncomfortable.

Hermione disapparated leaving Rose and me standing in the living room feeling slightly befuddled.

"She was just sort of sitting there when I got back from the store," I explained.

Rose's only reply was, "We need better locks."

OOooOOooOOooOO

Grandmum Weasley was, for some reason, willing to let my family name go even if she had to shout at her husband, son, and son-in-law to let it happen. George Weasley already liked me since the lot of us had done a job for him just before our seventh year, and the elder Weasley brothers were predisposed not to give a shit who their niece and nephew happened to be friends with.

Unfortunately, this put me in close contact with both Ron and Hugo Weasley in conjunction, and both of them spent the entirety of Christmas and Christmas Eve glaring daggers at me from across the room. Neither would get within ten feet of me, which worked out well for my general safety. Fortunately, Hugo lacked opportunity to hurl anything at my head, mostly because some contingent of Rose, Al, Lily, James, Fred, Dominique, Grandmum Weasley (who insisted I call her Molly and/or Grandmum) and Hermione would've bludgeoned him if he tried anything.

After pudding on Christmas Eve, most of the adults retired early to try and sleep off the drinks the rest of us had been plying them with. Al, James, and Lily greatly commended our successful efforts to get their father drunk.

I don't know if you've ever had the opportunity at a Christmas party or whatever, McFarlane, but Harry Potter drunk is one of the most entertaining things ever and I highly recommend it if you ever get the occasion.

"How's the Quidditch team this year, Lily?" I asked as we of the younger generation holed up in the den.

"Awful," Lily complained. "And it's your fault."

"What'd I do?" I asked.

"You finished school," she replied. "You were the best Keeper since Oliver Wood, and you left."

"Sorry," I said. "Did you get some poor failure to replace me?"

"Yes," she groaned. I managed not to laugh. "Fortunately, we beat Ravenclaw since they don't have Will anymore, but still."

"I'm sorry," I said, scanning the rest of the room. Rose was deep in conversation with her cousins Lucy and Roxie, who I didn't know very well. Roxie was in the same year as Em and I was pretty sure they had some sort of amicable rivalry going over something or other. Lucy was the year ahead of us and the last time I had checked, she was shagging Frank Longbottom. I mean, these days they're living together as well, so it was probably the start of a proper relationship, but at Christmas of 2024 they were just shagging.

Al and Fred and Louis, same year as Roxie and Em, were chatting about something while Hugo glared at me darkly. Molly was reading a book, but the conversation that struck me as interesting to observe was Dominique and James.

Dominique Weasley. I'm not actually sure where to start. Well, for one thing, she's an excellent Beater. She played for the Tutsthill Tornadoes for three years and then got traded to the Appleby Arrows. It was a terrible deal for many reasons, but at the time the only one I knew about was the fact that the Tornadoes were a much better team than the Arrows and had a much better record. But that doesn't really relate to Dominique herself.

I had got to know Dom – as she prefers to be called – when I joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team halfway through my first year. Then Captain Liam Wood had suffered the humiliating violation of his Keeper by a Slytherin Bludger to the head that left the poor fucker unable to perform quick motions like grabbing the Quaffle. Wood was forced to reassign the role of Keeper and I tried out, thinking it would be a laugh. Dom was a fourth year at the time and we met each other at the try outs where it was her job to send Bludgers at us to see if we had the reflexes necessary to dodge. I outperformed the shit out of my competition and thereafter became friends with Dom.

She happens to be stunningly beautiful, which is what she gets for being a sixteenth Veela, but if anyone ever tried to insinuate that she only got where she was because she was pretty, she would beat the shit out of them with her Beater's bat. I know this. I have seen it happen on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, you would have to be either blind or stupid to not notice the way her silvery blonde hair, lightly dusted with a coppery sheen, glittered in the firelight, or the way her bright blue eyes twinkled when she smiled. She kept her hair just barely long enough to pull it back when she was playing, but other than that she embraced the tomboy persona as much as possible. She was entirely unflappable as far as I could tell, but that Christmas as she talked to James in hushed tones, she looked slightly scared.

James Potter played, well, still plays, for the Puddlemere United. He's one of their best Chasers, although they did attempt to replace him with Will at one point. Fortunately for James's now legendary career, Will turned them down. Will happens to be such a good Chaser that it's almost boring to watch him play. The minute he has the Quaffle, you know he's going to score a goal and there's no point in paying attention. At least when I play, it's possible to find me interesting, since the professional Chasers are almost good enough to get goals past me. Sometimes, I make a particularly difficult catch and it becomes interesting again.

Sorry, I tend to get lost when I start talking about Quidditch. What was I talking about again? Oh, right. Dom.

Because she looked scared, I excused myself from Lily and wandered over to Dom and James as inconspicuously as possible.

"Oh, hey Lion Cub," James said by way of greeting. I nodded back and sat down next to him.

"What are you two talking about?" I asked as casually as possible.

"Nothing," Dom assured me, looking very much as though it was not "nothing."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I'm very helpful."

"Are you helpful enough to find proof of a conspiracy before I lose all the fingers on my left hand?" Dom asked, just a hint of her usual fire in her voice.

James looked disturbed, but I was intrigued.

"A conspiracy?" I asked. "Yes, I think I am actually helpful enough to find proof of one of those. Care to share what's going on?"

Dom looked entirely reluctant to do so, but sighed. "Maybe after Christmas."

"Okay," I said. "I'm sure my associates would like to help as well. We're good at fixing problems."

"They did dye all the Slytherins pink once," James supplied.

"What problem did that fix?" Dom asked, looking genuinely curious.

"Oh so many," I replied. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper onto which I scribbled:

_MadCap Industries_

_19 Knockturn Alley, #507_

Dom stared at the paper for a moment. "MadCap Industries?" she asked.

"I'm trying it on for size," I replied cheerfully. "Don't hesitate to ask for our help anytime you need it."

* * *

"Seriously?" McFarlane demanded. "That's when it started?"

"Yeah," I agreed, rubbing my wrists against the handcuffs irritably. "Look, we've established I'm not going to piss off, would you please get these bloody things off?"

McFarlane frowned at me and vanished the handcuffs. "But don't for a second think I'm giving you your wand back."

"I would never," I assured him.

"Where did you even come up with the name?" he asked. Despite himself, he actually looked sort of curious.

I shrugged. "I went through our initials to see if I could make any words out of them. It came down to MadCap or Swears, but Swears was too boring. We pretend that Em and Rose and Sam are all included in the Industries part."

"Where do the other letters come from?" McFarlane asked.

"The M is for Malfoy," I explained. "The AD in Mad are for Al and Dylan, which was actually sort of fitting since we were the original three masterminds. The C is the first letter of Will's last name, and the A and P are Abramson and Potter, or Dylan and Al."

McFarlane nodded slowly like he was starting to understand my brain. I rubbed my raw wrists disdainfully.

"Has it ever been a real business?" he asked.

"We were a real consulting firm," I replied. "We still are, technically. Why? How long did you spend staring at our paperwork trying to figure out if we were a real business?"

"Longer than I care to admit," McFarlane said.

I analysed the haggard look in his eyes and how thin his salt-and-pepper hair was and then smirked to myself. "Two years, six months," I guessed.

McFarlane was immediately flustered. "Just get on with your story," he commanded.

I was only too happy to oblige.

**Review!**


	6. Beater - Bludger - Bat

**A/N: In which lots of things happen! Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Also, I got a purple pygmy puff and now it sits on my desk watching me write and makes me stupidly happy. And I wish to dedicate Will and Em's relationship to two friends of mine from high school who got married two weeks ago. They've been dating since freshman year, which was a while ago, but at the same time, we're nineteen. So that's a thing...**

Chapter Five - Beater - Bludger- Bat 

In the week from Christmas to the restart of the Hogwarts term, none of us saw Will. We saw Em once when she wandered out of his room, grabbed a very large bottle of water from the fridge, and then disappeared back into his room. Dylan shouted something at her about electrolytes, but other than that, none of us saw either of them.

"I'd worry, except I'm jealous," Al grumbled, staring at Will's locked door.

"Don't tell me you want to shag my cousin," I replied, flicking him in the ear.

"Come on," he said. "You'd happily shag Rose if you got the opportunity. And no, I don't want to shag either Em or Will, it's more the fact they're actually getting some."

"I did have the opportunity to shag Rose," I replied, taking a drink of my Butterbeer and leaning sideways in my armchair. "I passed it up."

Al stared at me like I couldn't possibly be serious. "But…" he protested.

Al has had a theory since fifth year that Rose and I fancied each other. The idea that I could've willingly passed up sex with Rose went against everything he believed.

"What are we having for dinner?" Sam asked, happening into the room and putting on an apron. Al and I frowned at him in pity.

"We could just…order out," I suggested.

Sam is an excellent cook, and we all deeply enjoy his cooking, but I felt sort of bad letting him cook all the time. Merlin knows Rose won't go anywhere near the kitchen unless whipped cream and caramel sauce and fudge and six pack abs are involved, but neither would the rest of us. In my defence, I had never needed to cook at my parents' house, since we had house elves. Al hadn't needed to cook since his mother is a saint and is highly capable of keeping his father from burning anything, which he's sort of wont to do if you put him in a kitchen. Al once said that his dad should have been known as The-Boy-Who-Lived-Unless-He-Had-Been-Forced-to-Coo k-for-Himself-Whereupon-He-Would-Not-Have-Lived.

I wasn't sure why neither Will nor Dylan knew how to cook, but the fact remained that Sam was the only one of us who could. I just felt sort of bad about it.

"I was thinking of making Cornish pasties," Sam said, dragging a gigantic mason jar of flour from the cabinet and grinning at us.

"We could probably have him knighted," Dylan suggested, flopping into one of the other armchairs.

"I was thinking Order of Merlin, second class at the very least," I replied.

"Or what is it the Muggles do? Canonise people?" Al asked.

Dylan and I shared a confused look at Al's expense.

"You know, where they turn someone into a saint?" Al elaborated.

"You're all very nice," Sam piped up from the kitchen.

"Hey, you're the one who feeds us voluntarily," Al replied. "What can we do for you in return?"

"I'd say pay my rent, but it's sixteen quid," Sam pointed out.

"Galleons," Dylan corrected.

"What for fuck's sake is a quid?" Al asked.

"Muggle money," I explained, proud of myself for actually knowing the answer. "What else could we do?"

Sam thought about it for a moment with a faraway look in his eye. "I wouldn't mind the heads of every single fact-checker for _Challenges in Charming_ stuffed and mounted on my wall," he said.

The three of us swapped horrified looks.

And McFarlane, you can check your records, and while there are insinuations of intimidation and threats of violence, not a single one of us ever actually caused lasting physical harm to another person. Well, except for the time that Rose scratched me badly enough I had to go to Mungo's but that was an accident.

"But barring that, I wouldn't mind a date," Sam said, returned from his sojourn to violence. "It's just that you lot all talk about sex and dating like it's the best thing ever, but I really wouldn't know. Honestly, I don't even care about the whole sex thing, but it would be nice to maybe go see a film with a girl and get dinner or something."

"Is this because your roommate sexiled you?" Dylan asked, successfully breaking the romantic fluff filling the room.

Sam shrugged and went back to making his Cornish pasties.

"Wait…" Al said finally. "So, I grew up in Godric's Hollow, Scor grew up in Wiltshire, Em's from Norfolk, Will's practically French-"

"Guernsey and France aren't the same place," Dylan interjected.

"You're practically Welsh," Al added.

"Gloucester is not in Wales," Dylan corrected, glaring at him.

"Rose was born, raised, and bleeds London, but Sam, where are you actually from?" Al called over.

"Tintagel," Sam replied cheerfully. "And my dad was even a baker. Everyone thought it was funny."

"So you're making Cornish pasties and are actually from Cornwall, where your father, one Mr Baker, was actually a baker," Dylan listed. "What are you?"

Sam shrugged and kept cooking.

Before the rest of us could speculate further on the strange state that was Sam's existence, there was a knock on the door. After a quick, violent game of Beater-Bludger-Bat, I was volunteered to check the door.

We only resorted to grade-school decision methods because on Boxing Day, our downstairs neighbours had knocked on our door to try and score drugs from us. After a very irritable conversation where Al informed them he was thirteen months sober, they pissed off, but we've been sketchy about checking the door since.

However, when I looked through the peep hole, I discovered the coppery-blonde hair of one Dom Weasley.

I opened the door immediately and she stepped inside looking mildly disturbed by her surroundings.

"Your neighbour asked me if I had any unicorn horn," she informed us, brushing the snow off her cloak and fixing the lot of us with a displeased look.

"Balding, middle aged fellow with black teeth?" Al asked, apparently unconcerned by the fact one of his more distant cousins had turned up unannounced.

"And a wart just there?" Dom asked, pointing to the spot right between her eyebrows.

"That's the one," Dylan agreed. "He tried to hit us up on Boxing Day, and I think Al managed to convince him he was a recovering addict, and ever since he's taken kindly to us, but he's still a bit off."

"I am a recovering addict," Al pointed out. "Just not from powdered unicorn horn."

"When did you stop drinking?" Dom asked, looking torn between confusion and pride.

"Dunno," he grumbled. "Last November when Scor threw out all my liquor."

Dom beamed at me and kissed me. I blame it on her French mother.

"Thank you," she said. "We tried to stage an intervention once, but clearly it didn't take."

"The miraculous thing is we managed to stage it without alerting any of our parents to the fact Al had a problem," Rose pointed out, appearing in the living room with a towel wrapped around her hair. "What is that smell?"

The heavenly smells of stew and pastry dough were wafting through the entire flat, nicely masking the heavy odours that had taken to seeping under Will's door.

"Cornish pasties," Sam replied, popping out from behind the kitchen wall and noticing for the first time we had company.

Now, I don't know much about your life, McFarlane, but let me tell you, watching someone fall head over heels in love at first sight is a truly touching moment.

Sam's whole face went slack and his eyes got wide – I noticed for the first time that they were an odd amber colour – and his mouth fell open slightly while he stared at Dom. It was actually possible to see various emotions cycle through his eyes, starting with "holy shit," progressing to "so _that's _what love is" and then going back to "holy shit."

Dom didn't seem to notice the fact he was wearing an apron or that he was covered in flour, but she did notice that he was staring at her like a helplessly lost puppy dog. "Hi, I'm Dom," she said, offering him her hand to shake.

He stared at her hand and then back at her face and then between the two a few times like he was entirely unsure what he was supposed to do.

"It's a handshake," she explained. "A typical sort of greeting between people meeting for the first time…"

"Don't mind him," Rose said. "Social normality isn't his strong suit. He'll come around in a moment. So what are you doing here?"

Dom turned away from Sam – who looked like his heart was breaking – and addressed the rest of us. "Well, Scor gave me a sham of a business card for MadCap Industries and said you lot could help me with a problem," she explained.

Thankfully, everyone let the MadCap Industries part slide for the time being. I suppose we all silently agreed it was best not to show dissent in the ranks in front of company.

"Do you need us to seduce anyone?" Dylan asked.

"Blackmail anyone?" Al added.

"Shag anyone?" Rose continued.

Dom considered. "Maybe blackmail," she said. "But no, nothing sexual."

"Then please, Miss Weasley," Dylan said, pulling out a chair for her at the table and ushering her onto it. "Join us for dinner and tell us about your problem."

We left Will and Em in their room (no one was brave enough to bear the sight of either of them starkers) and offered Dom one of Sam's Cornish pasties. He spent the entire dinner staring at her vacantly and every so often he would realise he was drooling and be forced to wipe it off as subtly as possible. Subtlety is not Sam's strong suit, so it didn't go over well.

"So I play Quidditch professionally," Dom started.

"We know," I assured her.

She gave me a small smile, glanced uncomfortably at Sam, and then continued.

"Two years ago I got traded to the Arrows-"

"A bloody tragedy if you ask me," I piped up.

"No one cares, Blondie," Rose informed me. "Except Will, and he's otherwise occupied."

"I care," Sam mumbled, before he turned bright red and stared down at his plate.

"And that's when I noticed something," Dom continued, managing to completely ignore the entire exchange. "No one ever gets traded from the Arrows."

"But you've got an influx of players every few seasons," I pointed out. "The old players have to go somewhere."

"Yeah, they do," Dom agreed. "But not to other Quidditch teams."

"What? Are they being murdered and buried under the pitch?" Dylan asked.

Dom gave him a sharp look, but there was genuine fear in her eyes. "No," she said. "But the minute someone is up for rotation, or trade, and the minute another team shows interest, they come down with a horrific injury that prevents them from playing, usually for good."

"It could just be a coincidence," Al pointed out.

"Yeah, it _could_," Dom agreed. "But…"

She reached into her bag and dropped a stack of files on our table. I reached for the top one. Gideon Gilroy, former Beater, had been signed to trade to the Tornadoes but before he could get there, he was in a Muggle car accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down, which rendered him incapable of flying.

The other files contained similar events all detailing horrible accidents that every single player about to be traded had sustained over the past twenty years.

"Why don't you go to the Ministry?" Al asked once we finished reading the files.

"Because the bloke who owns the team…" Dom started, looking pained.

"He what?" Sam demanded, a fiercely protective note in his voice. The rest of us avoided eye-contact lest we burst out laughing at Sam's sudden normality.

"He's owned by the mob," Dom said. "And I'm relatively sure if I were to bring this to the attention of the International Gaming Committee, I'd be murdered."

She said it matter-of-factly but there was definite fear in her eyes. She completely believed what she was saying. And from what I knew of Dom (and most of the Weasleys for that matter) if they believed something, it was usually true.

"So what do you want us to do?" Rose asked.

"I'm up for rotation," Dom mumbled. "And the Magpies are interested, really interested, but I can't sign the contract without worrying I'm going to come to some ill end."

"You want our protection?" Sam asked.

Dom nodded. "But they don't let anyone into practices, so it's going to be complicated."

"They let the team in," I pointed out.

"But none of you are on the team," she said.

I grinned cheerfully. "Hey Corner!" I yelled.

Will stumbled out of his room in Em's dressing gown with his black hair stuck up in every possible wrong angle and a giant hickey visible on the side of his neck and just under his collarbone where the robe was open.

"What?" he asked, frowning at me through slightly dazed eyes.

We all managed not to laugh at his appearance – at least mainly due to bitterness that he was actually having sex, unlike the rest of us – and I smirked at him.

"You got an offer from the Arrows, right?" I asked.

"So did you," he pointed out.

"Then take a fucking shower, because I think we're going pro," I replied with a stupid grin.

OOooOOooOOooOO

The team's manager regarded us curiously over the tips of his fingers.

"Seriously," I assured him. "It was utter hell all five years we had to play against each other at Hogwarts."

"No really," Will continued. "And as long as Scorpius isn't unconscious or mostly dead, I'm the only Chaser to ever get a goal past him, so you really want us on the same side."

"I was only mostly dead the once," I pointed out.

"Take a Bludger to the head?" the manager asked.

"Bat," I corrected. "The Slytherin Beater was not my biggest fan."

The manager surveyed us for a long moment. In the shadowy background of the office, the team's owner nodded once. I wasn't sure how the manager saw him, but he must have, because the next thing we knew, he slid us each a contract.

"Your starting salary is 1000 galleons a month," he said. "You'll get full benefits and since you're a Keeper, Mr Malfoy, you'll also be receiving hazard pay of an additional two hundred galleons per month. You will be contractually obliged to play for us for two years before you are up for rotation, and the only ways you might be removed from this contract are if you sustain a life-threatening injury or if you are recruited to play for – you're both properly English, correct?"

We nodded.

"Or if you're recruited to play for England in the World Cup," he finished. "If that works for the two of you, then please sign on your contracts."

"I'd like my lawyer to take a look at it," I replied. Will gave me a repulsed look, but I ignored him.

"That's fine," the manager said. "Mr Corner?"

"Yeah," Will said, picking up the quill he was offered and scrawling his name on the line. I pocketed my contract and smiled at the manager before I tipped my imaginary hat at the owner in the back corner.

"I'll be back to you before the week is out," I assured them before Will and I left. We apparated back to our hallway at which point Will gave me a disgusted look.

"You have a lawyer?" he demanded, unlocking the front door.

"Of course I don't have a lawyer," I replied. "Although, if we continue in this vein of work, I might need one, but no. I just wanted an opportunity to make a copy of it so we have it on record in the event of funny business."

"Our team is owned by the mob," Will pointed out. "Of course there's going to be funny business."

"How'd it go?" Rose asked from the sofa. She was styling Em's hair while Dom sprawled in one of the arm chairs. We had decided that for the time being, until we could ensure Dom's safety during her transition between teams, she should stay with us. As such, she was sharing Rose's room.

"I signed my contract," Will said, sitting on the floor next to Em and laying his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair absentmindedly. She was supposed to go back to Hogwarts the next day and neither of them was taking it well.

"I wanted to make a copy of mine," I said, pulling it out and waving my wand over it. A shimmery hologram of it appeared next to the original. I directed it towards a scroll of parchment lying on the table and then I had my perfect copy.

"How did you get them to let you leave with the original?" Dom asked, looking curious.

"He told them he wanted his lawyer to look at it," Will explained.

"You have a lawyer?" Rose asked.

"Well, my mum, sort of," Em said. "But she's more a personal estate lawyer."

"Really?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Em and I agreed.

"Hah," Dylan laughed from where he was scribbling at the table. "Your mother-in-law's going to be a lawyer."

"I'll need a moment to make my peace with that," Will replied.

"She's scarier than my dad," Em added. "So if you can make your peace with that, you should be fine."

"Great," Will murmured.

None of us even considered it strange that they seemed to have accepted the fact they would eventually be getting married. They had just been a complete constant in our group from the moment they started dating. It seemed only logical.

Their daughter, Violette, is quite an adorable accident.

"So after we start practicing with you, we can always keep an eye on you until you can successfully complete your transition," I said to Dom, falling into the other armchair.

Dom nodded gratefully. "Thanks," she said. "You lot are sweet."

"We try," Dylan replied. "At least towards other people. We're dicks to each other."

"Oh, constantly," Rose agreed.

"I've made biscuits," Sam announced, appearing in the living room with a platter of gingerbread biscuits.

"Gingerbread is my favourite!" Dom enthused, jumping out of her chair and grabbing one of the gingerbread men.

Dylan and I exchanged suspicious looks, but Sam remained wilfully oblivious. I couldn't think of any possible reason for him to know that they were Dom's favourite, but at the same time, I was almost one hundred percent sure he had made them on purpose.

"So, are you all unemployed?" Dom asked through a mouthful of gingerbread.

"Well, Scor and I are now professional Quidditch players," Will pointed out. "And Em's still in school."

"Don't remind me," Em grumbled.

"But other than that, yeah," Rose agreed. "Speaking of which, Blondie, what exactly is MadCap Industries supposed to be?"

I shrugged. "I figured we could use a name if we were going to be doing contract crime."

"Crime?" Al repeated, looking upset by the description.

"Well, contract illegality," I corrected.

"You know, I could probably get it worked out with the business licensing department to make it a real company," Rose said, sounding pensive. "I think I might, actually."

"Great," I said. Sam kept drooling at Dom, completely oblivious to the conversation.

We left him like that and eventually Em returned to school and Will and I had to start Quidditch practice.

Pissing off everyone on the team, we weren't reserve. The captain took one look at our Quaffle handling skills during warm ups and bumped me up to a starter, then after every single Chaser on the team and in the reserve failed to make a shot past me, save for Will, he got bumped up as well.

"You two seriously weren't considering going pro?" the Seeker demanded.

"Keeping our options open," I explained with a shrug.

Dom thought the whole thing was mildly hilarious, except for the fact the team's owner had started in on the negotiations with the Magpies over her. It didn't take us long to figure out that they would authorise the trade, and collect the money, and then disfigure the player as soon as the season was over. Since the season was only four months, it was quickly decided that Will and I would just stay under cover the whole time.

Now, I know for a fact you've never been a professional Quidditch player, McFarlane, but let me tell you, you get popular fast.

After our first game against the Wasps, Will and I developed our own fan clubs. Before we could really control what was happening, _Witch Weekly_ had delayed the production of their 2025 Quidditch Illustrated calendar so that they could make Will and me July and August respectively.

"It's nice to see the fame isn't going to your head," Al commented idly, trying not to laugh while Will fixed his hair.

"No, because why would it, right?" I asked, also trying not to laugh at Will.

Before I could do more to mock him, there was a tap on the living room window and an owl swooped in. It landed in front of me with a luridly pink envelope in its beak.

_Scorpius, _it read. There was a heart over the I.

_You probably don't remember this, but we met last year when I did a piece on your discovery of the graves of the Hogwarts founders. The editors of _Witch Weekly_ would like to do a human interest piece interview with you for their "Most Eligible Bachelors Under 30" article. I've volunteered to write it. If you reply to this owl, we'll be able to schedule a time over the next week or so to make the interview a reality. _

_Hoping this finds you well,_

_Elsie McFadden_

_PS. I'm a _HUGE_ fan of your Quidditch games. _

Dylan, Al, and Rose tried to snatch the letter from me so they could read it, but I wouldn't let them, as I was too busy trying not to burst out laughing.

"What does it say?" Dylan demanded, trying to reach it while I held it over his head.

"It says-"

Suddenly there was a person clinging to my back while Dom used me as a human jungle gym to be able to grab the letter.

"You are a perfectly respectable twenty-three year old woman, what in Merlin's name are you doing climbing on a person?" I demanded while she wrested the letter from my grasp.

"If I were perfectly respectable I wouldn't have come to issue with the mob, now would I?" she retorted, jumping off me and reading the letter aloud to everyone.

"Why do you get to be on the Most Eligible Bachelors list?" Will demanded.

"Because you're not a bachelor," I pointed out. Will deflated a bit.

"I think you should do the interview," Rose suggested, looking evil and vindictive.

"You just think it would be funny," I replied.

"Also, there will probably be a full page colour picture of you in nothing but Keeper's trousers, theoretically untied," Al added.

"They already did that for the calendar," I pointed out.

"I wonder how many girls we went to Hogwarts with will see that calendar and then hate themselves because they were horrible to you," Dylan muttered, looking pensive.

"All of them," Dom and Rose chorused.

Before I could contradict them, there was a knock on the door. Sam lost the game of Beater-Bludger-Bat and went to answer it.

Our questionable downstairs neighbour with the back teeth and the wart was standing there.

"Sorry, this is MadCap Industries, isn't it?" he asked.

"Erm…yes," Sam replied while the rest of us watched the exchange from the shadows of the living room.

"Do you lot sell madcap mushrooms?" he asked.

"Erm…" Sam replied.

The rest of us looked around at each other.

"How much do they go for?" Will asked, joining Sam at the door.

"My dealer makes me pay ten galleons a cap," our neighbour said.

"We don't have any right now, but give us three weeks and our new crop will be in full…bloom…" Will assured him. We were all mildly unsure what the proper term for full fruiting was in a mushroom. Still are, for that matter. "For you, seven galleons a cap."

Our neighbour smiled at him brightly, revealing his blackened teeth. "You should also look into carrying unicorn horn," he suggested. "I'll be back in three weeks."

He shuffled off and Sam locked the door behind him.

"Did you just volunteer us for drug dealing?" Al asked.

"At seven galleons for the cap of a mushroom?" Will replied. "Yes. Yes I did."

"You realise we're going to need a herbologist for that, right?" Dylan pointed out.

That was when Frank Longbottom came in. Up until then, he had been working for his mother at the Leaky Cauldron and secretly growing recreational herbs on the side. As far as I knew, he didn't sell them, but kept them for himself. Rose, Al, and I went to visit him as goodwill ambassadors.

"We'll give you three galleons per cap," I offered.

"Three galleons?" Frank repeated. "For a mushroom?"

"Yeah," Al agreed.

"Okay," Frank said, looking highly enthused by this. "I just really need this to not be tracked back to me."

"We can put you on the payroll of our company," Rose suggested. "You can be our agricultural consultant."

"Agricultural consultant?" Frank, Al and I repeated.

"We're a consulting firm," Rose informed us, pulling out a stack of business cards. She waved her wand over them and suddenly they read:

_Frank Longbottom_

_Agricultural Consultant, MadCap Industries_

_19 Knockturn Alley, #507_

"We can set you up with a proper plot of land if you'd like," I offered.

We got the details ironed out very quickly after that, and then refocused our attention on the Quidditch problem at hand. Because we had seven people in our syndicate – even if one was stuck at Hogwarts for the next six months – we had the manpower necessary to multitask. Rose was in charge of running the theoretical MadCap Industries, while Will and I were undercover with the Arrows. Sam, Dylan, and Al were in charge of our home security systems, which mostly meant keeping Dom safe.

This didn't become a problem until our game against the Puddlemere United. During the game, after James had tried unsuccessfully to score a goal against me yet again, Puddlemere's Beater lost control of his bat and it went flying across the pitch and crashed into the base of Dom's spine. She went rigid on her broom and then fell off. While she was falling the thirty feet to the ground, Will managed to catch her before she hit.

"I can fix it," the medi-wizard assured our panicked team. "But I want her to go to St Mungo's as soon as I'm done here."

"I know a healer," I said awkwardly. The manager nodded at me shakily like this was a good thing.

We won the game anyways, but after I had changed out of my Quidditch robes and was leaving the changing rooms, I was forced to stop.

"We need her to be okay long enough to negotiate the deal," the team's owner growled menacingly. "And as soon as they've paid us, make it look like an accident. This one's onto us."

"Y-yes sir," the manager squeaked.

I waited until I was sure they were gone before I disapparated.

**Review!**


	7. The Problem with Juggling Knives

**iA/N: Okay. So thanks very much to Prunella7, FairyLightsandGlitter, and KeishaM for reviewing. I don't like review mongering, folks, but I will start because I am of fragile ego and only reviews help. I do enjoy having people favourite or follow (please keep doing so) but I really, really, really love reviews. That is all. **

Chapter Six - The Problem with Juggling Knives Is Once You Start, You Can't Stop or You'll Cut Yourself

"Now, Miss Weasley, you were very lucky the medi-wizard knew what he was doing," my dad said, consulting his clipboard. "I think you might have been paralyzed if he hadn't been on hand."

"Right," Dom replied, sounding unnerved.

"Scorpius, what are you doing here?" my dad asked, finally noticing me.

"I'm checking up on my teammate," I replied, crossing my arms and leaning in the doorway.

Will was sitting in the seat next to Dom. Downstairs, the orderlies were trying to keep all the rabid Quidditch fans out of the ward, which included Rose, Al, Dylan, and Sam. I had passed Sam on my way up, and he was almost to the point of violence trying to get up the stairs to see her.

"Dad, I need a favour," I said.

"Can it wait until I'm done consulting with my patient?" he asked coldly. I rolled my eyes.

"It has to do with your patient," I said.

Will and Dom gave me a confused look but I ignored them.

"I'm not giving you her personal contact information," my dad said. "And aren't you…you know…"

"I'm not actually dating Al," I replied. "And I don't need Dom's personal contact information. I need you to prescribe her a leave of absence from Quidditch until the end of the season."

"What?" Dom and Will exploded. I shushed them.

"Doesn't the season end in three months?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," I agreed. "So if you wouldn't mind prescribing her three months of leave."

He considered me for a long moment, and considered the underlying sincerity in my voice before he finally nodded and went about signing the necessary paperwork.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dom whispered harshly.

"They're not going to just disfigure you," I whispered back in the same tone. "They're going to kill you."

She went pale and stopped arguing.

When we got back to our flat, I filled everyone in on the situation

"So we need to delay the negotiations as long as possible," Rose said. "How do we make them delay?"

"Occupy their time," Dylan suggested.

"Well, the manager is scared shitless of the owner from what I've seen, so you've got to occupy the owner's time," Dom replied. She was handling the news of her death threat quite well.

"And the owner is…" Al prompted.

"Thomas Ellison," Dom, Will, and I replied.

"I've been doing research into the mob," Sam piped up. "Daniel Ellison is the head of the family."

"And Thomas Ellison is…" I prompted.

"His brother," Sam replied.

"Great," Dylan groaned.

"Scor, aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" Al asked suddenly.

I consulted my watch and realised I was supposed to be at my interview with _Witch Weekly. _"It doesn't matter," I said. "I'll reschedule."

"Go," Rose instructed. "We'll jinx the ever-loving shit out of anyone who tries to attack."

I nodded uncertainly and disapparated.

Elsie McFadden, the journalist, was cute in a sort of plain way. She had short blonde hair and hazel eyes and her nose was turned up at the end. She was sitting at a table at the restaurant she had chosen for our interview wearing a very short dress and drinking a fruity pink drink.

I nodded at the maître'd and sat down opposite her.

"Now, to be perfectly authentic, I have to make sure you are actually a bachelor," she said after we had exchanged pleasantries.

"Fancy way of asking if I'm single?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

She turned slightly pink and giggled. "Sorry," she said. "Maybe a little, but I do actually have to ask."

"Yes, I'm single," I said. The closest I had ever got to a girlfriend was a con.

Elsie looked mildly relieved and smiled at me. "Great," she said.

If it were a film, I know exactly how the director would have done it. He, or she, would have done a close up on our table while, over the course of dinner, we leaned progressively closer to each other. Then the script would indicate I said something very forward and sassy, and there would be a straight cut to the two of us in Elsie's bedroom tearing each other's clothes off.

Interestingly enough, thanks to the magic that is apparition, that's almost exactly how it happened.

I made it home very early in the morning, and as I was stumbling through the Leaky Cauldron, I came across Frank.

"Scorpius," he said, looking enthusiastic. "My madcaps are in full flower. When do you want them?"

"Erm…have you got them now?" I asked.

Frank handed me a basket full of mushrooms. I estimated there were probably about three hundred in the basket. Each of the mushrooms was a different unnatural colour, ranging from scarlet with lime green spots, to pink with rainbow stripes.

"Do they always look like that?" I asked.

"That's why they're called madcaps," Frank replied.

"Great," I said. "So I'm going to take these, and count them, and then we'll work on getting you your cheque, okay?"

"Sounds good," Frank replied. "I'll let you know when the next crop comes in. Also, I've got some left over Tolkien Grass from my last harvest if you wanted that as well."

"Tolkien Grass?" I asked.

Frank shrugged. "It's sort of like pot," he said. "But better."

"Sure," I said. "Why not?"

I wasn't quite in a proper state of mind, having just spent the past eight hours in the company of an overly enthusiastic and naked journalist, so most of the things Frank was proposing sounded like a good idea. I promised to give him a cut of whatever we got for the Tolkien Grass, and headed back to our flat.

"So how was your interview?" Rose asked me when I walked in. She wasn't normally awake that early, so I was instantly suspicious.

"Were you…waiting up for me?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Blondie," she scoffed. "We've taken rotations all night to make sure no one shows up."

"Oh," I said, setting the basket of mushrooms on the table.

"So how was your interview?" she repeated, smirking at me.

"Well, I think I got a good review," I said. She laughed. "Also, Frank got the mushrooms."

"I see that," Rose replied. "I suppose we should count them?"

I agreed, and we sat down to count them out. We had approximately 348.

"If we charge seven galleons a cap, that nets us a total of 2,436 galleons," Rose said. "Give three per to Frank, that leaves us 1,392 galleons."

"That's more than I make in a month as a professional Quidditch player with hazard pay," I replied.

"We don't know how quickly they're going to sell," Rose pointed out.

I nodded in agreement and then took myself off to bed. That morning, we had Al go down to our neighbour and inform him that we had his mushrooms in.

The bloke turned up almost instantly and bought thirty.

He left, bowing his way out backwards, and disappeared.

"Interesting," Dylan muttered.

He came back the next day with some of his friends, and then the day after that, and before the weekend was out, we were sold out.

"So that's nice," Will said, eyeing the stacks of galleons on our table. "But that doesn't help us keep Thomas Ellison occupied from negotiations."

Before any of us could suggest something, we heard our down the street neighbours start hollering at each other again. In exasperation, Sam stormed over to the window and wrenched it open.

"Oi!" he bellowed. If it shocked the neighbours, it freaked the shit out of the lot of us. Sam was never one to raise his voice. Ever. "Would you lot pipe the fuck down?"

Our neighbours yelled something incoherent back to him.

"Yeah? Well how much does your dealer charge you?" Sam demanded, apparently better able to hear them than we were. They responded, and Sam grabbed the Tolkien Grass from our cluttered kitchen and stormed out of the flat.

"What just happened?" Will asked.

"I don't even…" Dylan replied, looking lost.

"He's sort of sweet, isn't he?" Dom asked, sounding pensive.

"And a little bit thick in the head," Al replied, giving her a weird look. Dom ignored him and went back to the book she was reading. She didn't participate in any of our illegal discussions, which was probably for the best. We were all relatively sure she wasn't going to bust us either, since we were the ones keeping her from harm.

Sam returned ten minutes later less the Tolkien Grass but with an additional pocketful of galleons.

"I told them that if they'd just shut up, we would charge them half of what their current dealer does," he explained.

"Great, so now we're a drug syndicate," Al replied.

"It'll happen," I said in a dismissive voice.

"To whom?" Al asked, torn between amusement and disdain.

"Us," Will replied.

Will and I went back to practice the following week to discover our manager in a fit. He was freaking out because our owner was having issues negotiating for Dom's trade and as such, he had been forced to move up one of the reserve beaters to a playing position, since we couldn't play a beater short.

"What sort of trouble is he having negotiating?" I asked as innocently as possible.

"He's too busy dealing with his industries to do it and now the Magpies' manager is hounding me about it," the manager explained.

"What sort of industry?" Will asked.

I'm sure you know this, McFarlane, but we didn't. Thomas Ellison was responsible for the drug trafficking through Knockturn Alley. In addition to owning the Arrows, that was his part to play in the Ellison mob family. We had inadvertently managed to fuck up his whole work schedule by offering better prices – and we're told, better product – than the Ellisons.

The season petered to a close towards the end of April. We placed second in the league, mostly because the Wasps had learned by the final that in order to beat us, they had to catch the snitch as soon as humanly possible so that Will and I couldn't ruin their Chasers and Keepers before they could even really get started. Unfortunately, the end of the season meant that Dom was in greater danger. The negotiations, however much we had managed to delay them, were in full swing, and by the first week of May, a contract had been signed.

"So now we wait for them to try and pick me off?" Dom asked, looking deeply apprehensive.

"We're not going to let anything happen to you," Sam assured her. He had taken to sitting next to her on the sofa and occasionally, she would fall asleep on his shoulder. I had never seen him as happy as when that happened. It was adorable in a nauseating sort of way. The lot of us had conferenced and decided we were going to have to put in a good word for Sam, since he had fallen hard for Dom but she was so astronomically far out of his league that it would have been comical to suggest Sam of all people was capable of wooing her on his own.

"There's a bloke watching the apartment," Will announced, staring out the window.

The lot of us rushed the window and stared down at the inconspicuous (well, for Knockturn Alley) guy leaning against the wall opposite us smoking a pipe with a dark cloak pulled over his person. When he noticed us staring, he disapparated.

"Do you think he saw Dom?" Rose asked, looking nervous.

"I don't know," Dylan replied. "You haven't left the flat, have you?"

"No," Dom assured him. "I've been on bed rest, courtesy of Healer Malfoy."

She glared at me when she said it, but I let it go.

"Do you think we should leave?" Al asked, looking worried for Dom's safety.

"I don't-" was all I managed to reply before the front door burst open.

The hit wizard took two steps into the room before something zoomed down his throat. I turned to see Sam's wand outstretched. The hit wizard started choking on something and with mild disgust, we realised it was his tongue.

"Ton-Tongue Toffee?" I guessed.

Sam didn't respond, and flicked his wand at the door. It slammed shut and bolted itself before all the broken pieces of wood re-attached themselves to the doorjamb.

Meanwhile, the would-be assassin's tongue spilled out of his mouth and started spooling around the floor, inadvertently licking up some dust and whatever else it is that ends up on floors. Before the rest of us could suggest any course of action, Sam waved his wand in a complicated knot-like motion at the hit-wizard and his tongue came to life, wrapping itself around the hit-wizard's wrists and then his ankles, effectively binding him into a small ball by his tongue. While the hit-wizard spluttered, a small fleet of pygmy puffs rolled into the room and swarmed him. All he could do was protest incoherently while they bounced on his distended tongue and worked their way into the caverns left between his knees and chest.

"Well done," Dylan said, glancing at Sam's outstretched wand apprehensively.

"Did I do that?" Sam asked, seeming to snap out of it. He looked deeply confused by what he had just done.

"Oi, git," Al said, aiming a kick at the assassin. The assassin garbled something that sounded vaguely like "get them off me" but no one was willing to oblige. "Are you Ellison's?"

The assassin nodded.

"Did you come here to kill Dominique Weasley?" Al asked.

The assassin nodded again.

"You saved my life," Dom said, staring at Sam in bright-eyed wonder.

"Erm…yeah, I suppose I did," Sam replied, still looking uncertain of where his reflexes had come from.

Before he could wonder much further, Dom threw her arms around his neck and snogged him.

Everyone, including the assassin, stared at them in shock. When they finally broke apart, they both had stupid grins on their faces and I was convinced we wouldn't be getting anything coherent out of Sam for at least a week. It ended up being two weeks, and I lost the bet to Dylan.

"So what are we going to do about Mr Happy-Kill-Stick?" Dylan asked, staring down at the bound and effectively gagged assassin.

I had a really stupid idea forming, but I also couldn't think of any better solutions.

"I might have an idea," I said. "Which of us looks the most imposing?"

"Well, you and Will and Al are the tallest," Dylan said.

"Al's too thin to really be imposing though," Rose pointed out.

"Sorry," Al replied. "Why?"

"Put on your best dress robes," I instructed, heading for my room. "We're going to go juggle knives."

I grinned disarmingly at my companions and closed the door behind me.

"What sort of crazy scheme do you have up your sleeve?" Al asked, reaching into his wardrobe in his half of the room to find his dress robes.

"The craziest," I said. "Remember the courage you got from Gryffindor's lion? You might need it."

"Yeah, I think I liked you better before you got that dose of confidence, mate," Al replied.

I ignored him and pulled on my robes before I did as I had never done before, and slicked my hair down in the most reminiscent of my father hairstyle I could stomach. Al seemed to understand my intention then, and did the same. Well, he tried, but his hair is messier than mine, which is saying something. Rose took one look at us and then fixed Will's hair to match ours as soon as we returned to the living room.

Dom was still holding on to Sam, who seemed to have died and gone to heaven, and the assassin was staring up at us looking disturbed while the pygmy puffs roamed over him. I crouched down next to him and smirked at him in a cold way before I pointed my wand at his neck. His eyes went wide as a burning sensation crossed his skin. When I was done, there was a perfect likeness of a pygmy puff tattooed onto his neck.

"Come on," I said, levitating him towards the fireplace. "We're going to go have a chat with your boss."

"You've gone mad," Dylan informed me.

"Yes," I agreed, smiling brightly at him and stepping into the fireplace.

The one nice thing about that flat was the fireplace. It was giant, and it was possible to fit all four of us inside at once. I made sure all the pygmy puffs were off the assassin before I threw the Floo powder into the grate and instructed it to take us to Daniel Ellison's office.

We spun into the mobster's lair and for show, Will removed the assassin from the fireplace with his foot. The man rolled across the floor, still tied up in his own tongue, while Ellison himself looked up from his desk with a disturbed look on his round face. He bore a passing resemblance to Winston Churchill, but had more of an evil gleam to his countenance.

The room was furnished with leather armchairs and Ellison's desk was giant. The man who had been watching us in the Alley was lurking behind Ellison's desk with his pipe still in between his teeth, and Thomas Ellison was sitting by his brother looking shocked to see us.

As soon as we stepped out of the fireplace, we found ourselves staring down the business end of the four security guards' wands.

"I wouldn't do that were I you," Al recommended, rolling his own wand in his hand and showering embers onto the nearest guard. He twitched uncomfortably and pocketed his wand so he could brush the embers off.

"Who the devil are you?" Ellison barked at me.

"Funny way of putting it," I replied, dropping casually into one of the armchairs and picking at my nails unconcernedly. The assassin was conveniently located next to my feet, so I used him as a footrest. "I found this man attempting to murder someone under my care. That's not something I take kindly to."

"That doesn't tell me who you are," Ellison replied. "And why you have the cheek to stroll into my office. Do you know who I am, boy?"

"His name's Scorpius Malfoy," the Arrows' owner supplied.

"So it is," I agreed. "And yes, Daniel, I do know who you are. But I think we're going to run into trouble unless you learn who I am."

"You would _dare_ to call me-" Ellison started to shout, sounding quite indignant.

"Yes I would dare," I sneered, standing up out of my chair and leaning across Ellison's desk so I could loom over him more effectively. "You and I have a few orders of business to conduct if you wouldn't mind getting rid of your lackeys."

The security guards looked miffed.

"I will not be sending my guards anywhere, Malfoy," Ellison replied, displaying more of a spine that I had expected.

"Do you really want them to be around while I humiliate you?" I asked, raising my eyebrow at him.

Ellison didn't flinch.

"Fine," I said. "Firstly, and most importantly, the Quidditch harming stops now. If another player on a team your family owns comes to harm, I will hold you personally responsible and have you deposed."

I figured he didn't need to know I was bluffing.

"You're only saying that because you're one of our players," Thomas Ellison pointed out. "Would you like to renegotiate your contract?"

I gave him a withering look, pulled my contract out of my pocket, and levitated it. With a backwards wave of his wand, Will lit it on fire.

"I was never really one of your players," I informed him. "We were there to protect Miss Weasley, because unlike you lot, we're in the business of defending people."

"If you're in the business of defence, then we have nothing to worry about," Ellison pointed out.

"Just because we defend nice people, don't for a second think we'll hesitate to damage you," Al replied. "May's always lovely for a drowning."

"Mmm," Will agreed, smiling dreamily at the idea.

Ellison was starting to look like he believed us.

"You'll stop harming Quidditch players, and I'm told you currently think you have control of the Knockturn Alley drug market," I continued.

"I don't _think_ I have control," Ellison snapped. "I have it."

"Erm…" Thomas Ellison mumbled from behind his brother.

"No you don't," I informed him with an eye roll. "Knockturn Alley is mine. And if you'll agree to these terms, I see no reason why any of your Quidditch tampering needs to end up on the desk of the International Gaming Commission's legal consultant."

"We can destroy you, Malfoy," Thomas Ellison piped up. "In a highly publicised scandal."

I gave him a look that was meant to clearly communicate he was an idiot. "I own the press," I said dismissively. "And I've got people in the Ministry. So yes, theoretically you could _try_ to destroy me, but somehow I doubt it would go over well for you."

Ellison bristled.

"Now what do you say we shake hands on my terms, and stay out of each other's hair," I suggested, offering him my hand to shake.

Ellison eyed it and then surveyed his crippled assassin. "What's on his neck?"

"A warning," I replied shortly. "He comes anywhere near Dominique Weasley again, and rest assured that mark will dissolve his skin before he can try anything."

It would do no such thing, of course, but if it really came to it, I was sure we could get Sam to make that charm actually happen.

Reluctantly, Ellison shook my hand. As soon as he did, Will, Al, and I disapparated back to the flat. My hands didn't start shaking until I had fallen into one of our armchairs.

"I can't believe we just did that," Al mumbled, falling onto the chair next to me. "Oh, Merlin, I could use a drink."

I had been about to get one for myself, but I stopped as a show of solidarity.

"May's lovely for a drowning?" Will asked, giving Al a disturbed look.

Al grimaced apologetically.

"What did you three do?" Rose asked, unclenching my cramped and shaking hands to force a piece of chocolate into them. When it became clear I was not currently possessed of the necessary motor functions to get the chocolate to my mouth, she pulled it out of my hand and forced it into my slightly gaping mouth. I chewed reluctantly and actually started to feel a bit better.

"I own the press?" Al asked, turning his owl-like stare on me.

"Sounded good," I replied, my voice muffled by the chocolate.

"We need to move," Will said. "As soon as possible. Sam, could you put up the best wards you know to keep us safe until we can get out of here?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, instantly running around the flat putting up wards and protective barriers and everything he could think of.

"I need to talk to my father," I said. "And Em's dad."

"Why Em's dad?" Will asked.

"You're coming with me," I informed him.

"But why?" Dom asked, looking worried. Sam returned from putting up the wards and fell into the seat next to her, his arm around her shoulder protectively.

"Because he actually owns the press," I said.

* * *

"Hang on," McFarlane said, holding up his hand to stop me. "You stormed into Daniel Ellison's office, no plan, nothing to back up any of your claims, and threatened him?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Hell, it even worked."

"But…the man's responsible for the deaths of about twelve Aurors in the past ten years, and you're saying you could just Floo in?" McFarlane demanded.

"Our building was owned by the Ellisons. The previous tenants had been thugs for him, and the landlord failed to disconnect the fire once we moved in," I explained. "But Ellison moved shop pretty damn quickly after that."

"I would imagine," McFarlane agreed, looking like he was staring to question the idea to arrest me in the first place. That, or he was actually starting to believe me when I had said I wouldn't be there if I didn't want to be.

McFarlane examined the bottom of his empty coffee mug and then groaned.

"You have a lot left of your story, don't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"I'm getting more coffee," McFarlane said, standing up and heading for the door.

"Two creams and a sugar," I requested after his retreating back. I could almost hear him roll his eyes and then he was out of the interrogation room. True to my word, I stayed in my chair. I had been sitting there for maybe ten seconds when one of the ceiling panels lifted and a woman in knee high black high heeled boots, leather trousers, and a skin tight black vest dropped onto the table. Rose shook out her scarlet curls and then sat on the edge of the interrogation table directly in front of me. She rested the heels of her boots on the arms of my chair and then reclined backwards on her hands.

"Sam says he hates you and that he was never that pathetic around Dom," she informed me.

"Yes he was," I replied.

"Will reminded him of that," Rose said, smirking at me. "Where are you?"

"That one time I threatened Ellison without a plan," I replied. She laughed. "But look what they did to me!"

I held my bloody and bruised wrists out for her to investigate.

"Oh you poor baby," she replied, trailing one scarlet fingernail up my forearm. "Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Yes," I said, standing out of my chair and kissing her. She wrapped her legs around my waist and ran her hands through my hair, but we were interrupted by the sound of McFarlane's footsteps coming down the corridor.

"I have to go," she said, dragging my bottom lip between her teeth.

"Minx," I replied, falling back into my chair while she stood on the table. A hand reached down and pulled her through the hole, which quickly disappeared, and then McFarlane returned.

He looked wary of the fact I hadn't tried to do a runner, and set a cup of coffee in front of me.

"You threatened Daniel Ellison in his own office," he reiterated.

"More than once, but that was the fun time," I agreed, taking a drink of my coffee.

"And what does any of this have to do with Peter Cartwright?" McFarlane asked.

I smirked. "Patience, McFarlane. We're getting there. We've still got four years of territory left to cover."

McFarlane sighed and then nodded for me to continue.

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	8. How Quickly Can You Pack?

**A/N: All you guys who reviewed! You're awesome and I love all of you, Prunella7, FairyLightsAndGlitter, KeishaM, Sarnia Nereid, Charlottembp, PastThePages, and Tom. To the rest of you: You also can see your name listed here in my author's notes if you'd like to. It's very simple, just review! **

Chapter Seven - How Quickly Can _You_ Pack?

I think a sane person would've gone underground. Maybe left the country and changed his name, disappeared off the face of the planet and maybe moved to Mars. Because you're right, Ellison has been responsible for the murders of twelve aurors in ten years, and countless other poor bastards who pissed him off. People like, well, me.

We divvied up tasks pretty quick. Our first order of business was to acquire money, as much as possible.

"I've got some money I could invest in your company," Dom offered. When the rest of us stared at her like she'd gone mad, she laughed at us. "You lot have enough balls to threaten Daniel Ellison in his home office. I'm throwing my lot in with you."

Rose and Al offered to talk to their parents to see if they would be willing to chip in a bit for a better living situation, which they were. Harry and Ginny and Ron and Hermione were very keen on having their children live somewhere besides Knockturn Alley.

"So I think I'm going to go to St Mungos," Al said while we all bustled around the flat packing.

"As a pre-emptive strike against the curses we're going to have flung at us, or what?" Dylan asked, giving him a quick once over. I think he was mildly impressed that Al had actually had the guts to join us in our endeavour of pissing off a mob boss.

See, when they broke up in seventh year, it was because Al accused Dylan of being shallow – regrettably true – and Dylan accused Al of being an alcoholic – also true – and then they sort of managed to mutually chuck each other. Mutually, but not amicably.

"No," Al replied, grabbing a box of books from Dylan and stacking it next to the Floo. "Because I'm going to go intern to be a Healer."

"Why?" Rose, Will, and I asked.

"Because like the lawyer Scor mentioned earlier, if we continue in this line of work, I think we're going to need discrete medical care," Al pointed out.

"Yeah, but why you?" Dylan asked, looking curious.

"Because I'm more than just a pretty face," Al replied with an unnerving, yes-I've-gone-mad-why-do-you-ask smile that the lot of us had taken to quite nicely.

After it was established that Al would be learning how to fix the lot of us in the eventuality we came to harm, our next point of interest was to send our closest-thing-to-legal-representative to my father to work out a way for me to acquire my inheritance from my grandfather. Once I had been sorted into Gryffindor, my grandfather had disinherited me, but after he died, my dad promised he would move that money along to me in due time.

It transpired that Rose really liked speaking legalese with regards to money, so she volunteered to harass my inheritance out of my father.

So while we left everyone else to look for a flat or a house or something (that we would immediately have Sam make unplottable so that the mob couldn't find us) Will and I turned up at Zabini LLC.

My uncle's secretary stared at us for a long moment, and I realised belatedly that we were still wearing our fancy dress robes from our encounter with Ellison. Since they knew where we lived, we had figured it would be best to move as quickly as humanly possible.

"I'd like to see my uncle," I requested.

The secretary gave me a once over and raised her eyebrow. "Mr Zabini has a free luncheon next Thursday if you would leave your-"

"Look, here's the thing," Will said. "He really wants to talk to us."

"I can assure you he doesn't, Mr…" she trailed off, waiting for Will to supply his name.

"You're sleeping with him, right?" I asked.

The secretary gave me a deeply affronted look, but the way she blushed to the very tips of her ears made me one hundred percent certain I was right.

"Yeah, see, Mr Zabini," Will said, a strangled tone in his voice when he said the name, "is technically married, right? And he's got a daughter you know, Emerald. Who, frankly, might only be three years younger than you which is creepy, but anyways, the reason Mr Zabini wants to talk to us-"

He paused and we checked jointly to make sure that Blaise's office door was cracked. It was.

"Is because his daughter Emerald is pregnant," Will said in a carrying voice.

There was a clattering sound from the office and suddenly the door burst open to reveal my dad's best friend from school. He looked ready to wring the neck of whoever was speaking, but got thrown when he saw me.

"Amber, why didn't you let my nephew in?" Blaise asked, giving the secretary a disapproving look.

"Your _nephew_ got your _daughter_ pregnant?" the secretary, Amber apparently, asked in a hysterical tone.

"No," Will, Blaise, and I chorused in disbelieving unison.

"Come in, Scorpius and…friend…" Blaise said, giving Will a disapproving once over.

We followed him into the office, leaving Amber in hysterics at the front desk.

"They had a fantastic solution for hysteria in the nineteenth century," Blaise commented idly, sitting back at his desk and righting his coffee mug. It had been responsible for the clattering noise. "Wonder if it really works…"

He trailed off, glancing at the closed door with interest.

"You can test it later," I replied.

"Em isn't really pregnant, is she?" Blaise asked, returning to our conversation rather than imaginary situations with his secretary.

"I should hope not, since she and her boyfriend have been apart for five months," I said.

"Oh, right," Blaise said dismissively. "That Ravenclaw tosser she's always on about, right?"

"Thanks Scorpius," Will mumbled, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye.

"What did I do?" I asked. "You know, besides the Ellison thing."

"I had hoped to meet Em's dad under less questionable circumstances," Will replied.

Blaise looked him over. "You're the Ravenclaw git, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Will agreed.

Blaise nodded slowly and the two stared at each other suspiciously. "Would you ever cheat on my daughter?"

"No," Will said, looking affronted by the insinuation.

"Not even if she cheated on you first?" Blaise asked. I rolled my eyes.

"If Em cheated on him, Will's response would be to take up Al's alcoholism and start moping," I replied. "And their relationship is very much not the reason we're here."

"Then why did you start the conversation by saying my daughter was pregnant?" Blaise asked.

"Got your attention," Will replied with a shrug. "Because we've recently discovered a knack for gaining attention."

Blaise glanced between us. "Don't you both play professional Quidditch?"

"We, erm, resigned," I said. "We need a favour."

"What sort of favour?" Blaise asked.

"So, there's an almost hundred percent chance that Daniel Ellison and cronies might shortly try to destroy me using the media, and since you own the media, I was hoping you might be able to…keep that from happening," I explained.

Blaise blinked slowly at us.

And then he kept staring.

"What did you do, Scorpius?" he asked finally.

"Nothing good," I replied simply.

"Dom might beg to differ," Will pointed out.

I nodded in agreement. "Long story short, I just need to keep me from becoming a story," I explained. "At some point I'll be able to repay you if that's an issue but-"

Blaise held up his hand to stop me. "I don't take kindly to people threatening my relatives," he said. "You're covered. But I do have a meeting in ten minutes so…"

"Right," I said, jumping to my feet and pulling Will up after me. "We'll let you alone then. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said. We started for the door, but he cleared his throat. "And you, Ravenclaw, I hope for my daughter's sake that you're good in bed."

Will turned a furious shade of fuchsia and spluttered for a moment. "Erm…s-she thinks so," he mumbled eventually, quite unsure what to do with this conversation.

Blaise nodded once and we were dismissed.

We returned to our flat where Will proceeded to collapse into the foetal position on the sofa, so deeply uncomfortable that he couldn't move.

"What happened to him?" Dom asked from the kitchen where she was helping Sam box things up.

"My uncle," I replied simply. Will had no way of knowing, but that sort of conversation was garden variety for my uncle Blaise. I'm sure he's figured that out by now, but he was more disturbed than anything else at that point.

"So there're several places for rent in Muggle London," Al announced, showing me the Muggle paper he had acquired. "But from what I understand, the Muggles are weirdly particular about letting people move in and they want to deal with paperwork and things and-"

"If we can stand the Cotswolds instead of London, I might know of a place," Dylan said.

"How soon can we move in?" I asked.

"It's unoccupied," Dylan replied. "But sort of…abandoned and broken down, and we'd need to go to the bank and say we wanted to buy it, but I'm not really sure it's fit for human occupation at this point."

"Why do you know about it?" Al asked.

"My mum's a realtor," Dylan replied.

"Do you want to go figure out how much we're looking at?" I asked. "We'll work on packing the rest of our things."

"Sure," Dylan replied, and then he disapparted.

Al slapped Will and shooed him off to pack while I ducked into my room and waved my wand at all of my things. They did a mad scramble for one of the boxes standing in the room, failing to realise that there wasn't enough space for everything. A nest of pygmy puffs got sucked out from under my bed, riding on a balled up pair of pyjama trousers and I only just managed to prevent them from getting crammed into the box.

They seemed to sense we were leaving, because before we had managed to clear half the apartment, the pygmy puff infestation had congregated in the living room, where they seemed to be holding parliament. After much squeaking and deliberation, they fell into almost military-style ranks and positioned themselves next to the pile of boxes waiting to be Flooed to wherever we were going.

"Aren't they adorable?" Dom asked, cooing over their leader, Tribble. He purred at her.

"They've got hereditary leaders," I said. "And they tend to organise themselves by colour because it's the easiest way for them to tell who's related to who. Also, they hold elections to their parliament and you can actually tell what variation they are by what manner of chocolate button they prefer. You can tell the males apart from the females because the females' fluff goes sideways and makes them wider, while the males' fluff grows upwards and makes them taller."

"Are you on about the fucking pygmy puffs again?" Al demanded, returning to the living room with his boxes. "I swear to Merlin you've got a fetish."

"I do not have a fetish!" I exclaimed while Dom barely managed to supress a giggle at my expense.

Before I could defend myself further, Dylan apparated into the living room at the precise moment Rose Flooed in from my father's office.

"One point eight million," they said in perfect unison. Then they turned to stare at each other in suspicion and confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Rose asked him.

"The price of the place in the Cotswolds that we would be legally allowed to inhabit as soon as we cared to," Dylan replied. "But they want at least a 360,000 pound deposit. What are you talking about?"

"That was the number Mr Malfoy gave me for what he could transfer to Scor at this precise moment," Rose replied. "He added that it wasn't his whole inheritance, but it was the best he could do at short notice."

"Galleons or pounds?" Dylan asked.

"Galleons," Rose and I replied in unison.

"Sorry, you've got 1.8 million galleons at a moment's notice?" Will asked, giving me a disgusted look.

"I'm the sole heir to the largest fortune in the Wizarding world as soon as my dad dies," I replied. I tried to sound apologetic about it, but couldn't really manage. "What's the conversion rate between galleons and pounds?"

"Very good for us," Rose replied. "Dylan, should you and I go talk to the bank then?"

"Yeah," Dylan agreed, and then he grabbed her arm and they disapparated.

Will and Al rounded on me the moment they were gone.

"How much money do you stand to inherit?" Al asked.

"A lot?" I suggested, cringing slightly.

They gave me an annoyed look, and we returned to packing.

It was several hours before Dylan and Rose reappeared, both looking somewhat annoyed and awed at the amount of money they had just given someone.

"What the fuck even _is_ a co-signer?" Rose demanded. "And we're not leasing the place, so we shouldn't need one!"

"Did you need one?" Will asked.

"We managed to talk them out of it to the tune of 500,000 pounds," Dylan replied.

"Oh goody, bribery to add to the list of shit we're going to be locked up for," Al muttered. "Should we start Flooing our stuff over?"

"There's no point yet," Rose said. "We've got to get the Floo connected first, since it's a Muggle dwelling. One of us will need to go talk to the department at some point."

"Well, I know where we're going so I can send our stuff on ahead," Dylan offered, flicking his wand at the stacks of boxes. They disappeared immediately. "I think you guys are going to like it."

"Really?" I asked.

Dylan nodded enthusiastically and grabbed Al's hand. Before Al could do more than give him a disturbed look, he also grabbed Rose's hand. Catching on quickly, the rest of us joined into the human chain. Before we could disapparate, the pygmy puffs swarmed our feet and clung on desperately.

"If any of you splinch one of them, I will have you murdered," I grumbled. Due to the seriousness of the situation, everyone burst out laughing, and then we were tugged sideways into the netherspace of apparition.

The "house" Dylan and Rose had acquired for us was amazing. I mean, it was crumbling into disrepair and was completely full of vermin, but it was beautiful. It was a proper manor that some foreclosed upon nobleman had sold to the bank in 1931 in a desperate attempt to liquidate his funds. We had grounds bordered by hedgerows and an ornamental garden that was completely in disrepair, but we could fix that. The roof needed work, but other than that, it was perfect. Dylan informed us as we walked through the halls that it had first been built in 1384 and renovated extensively since then.

"And you don't get to be dismissive just because your family's house was first constructed in 1090 something," Dylan added, giving me a death glare.

"It wasn't," I replied, looking around the sweeping entryway in awe. Curved staircases flanked a giant fireplace that would be perfect for a Floo entrance as soon as we got it hooked up.

"It wasn't," Dylan repeated, sounding like he didn't believe me.

"It was the 1070s," I replied, lightly touching the crystals in the chandelier that hung in the middle of the entryway.

"They must've redone this place in the early 1900s," Dom said, looking around in equal wonder.

"How do you know?" Dylan asked, sounding curious.

Dom smiled at him. "I was going to go into architecture if I didn't go pro," she replied. Sam fell visibly more in love with her.

"I suppose we should start cleaning," Will suggested, sounding unenthused by the idea.

"I say we split up to do it, and whenever someone comes across something cool we let the others know," Rose suggested.

We did as she suggested, and discovered quite quickly that the place was a treasure trove of random collector's items from the 1920s. There was a dumbwaiter in the kitchen that went to the cellar and some sketchy alarm system that ran in every room in the house that Dom explained had been used to call the butler.

Once we had managed to divvy up rooms, sighing in relief that none of us had to share anymore, I found my way to the back enclosed foyer. There were marble flagstones, clearly imported, and glass windows that overlooked the sprawling and overgrown lawn. The panes were cracked and several were missing, but something about the whole place was magical.

"You know you're insane, right?"

I turned away from the mental image I had formed of us hosting fabulous parties in period fancy dress in our beautifully restored mansion. I don't know why it affected me that much, since I had grown up in an even grander manor house than that one, but it did.

Rose was leaning against the French doors and giving me a look I couldn't read.

"For which part?" I asked. "Buying a falling down mansion or threatening a mob boss?"

"All of the above," she replied, joining me at my window. "What were you thinking about?"

"We could have some spectacular parties in this place," I answered honestly.

She raised her eyebrow at me and a brief smile curved across her lips. "If we do, can I call you Jay Gatsby?"

"Why on earth would you do that?" I asked.

"Never mind," she said, still laughing at her own joke, whatever it had been. "I'll see you later."

She turned and walked away, her hips swaying slightly underneath the very professional pencil skirt she was wearing. In case I haven't made it abundantly clear, Rose looks spectacular in most things she puts on her body, especially leather. She's got a fantastic pair of leather trousers that I swear she wears just to drive me mad, but I digress.

It turned out that Ellison had sent someone around to our flat very shortly after we had vacated it. Upon finding it empty, the hit-wizard had informed Ellison of our disappearance. We eventually set up a surveillance system so we could see when the apartment wasn't being watched and therein conduct our drug sales.

By the end of May, we had expanded our wares to carry powdered unicorn horn, mostly because our downstairs neighbour hadn't given up harassing us for it. Also, since we'd effectively chased the other dealers out of the Alley, we were all they had. Ellison himself might not have been actually scared of us, but his brother sure was.

"We need an industry," Rose informed us, lounging on our chaise-lounge in one of the many parlours we now possessed. We were taking the renovations slowly, but it was turning out beautifully.

"What sort of industry?" Al asked, studying a book on human anatomy. Every so often, one of us would point out that there were better ways to study human anatomy than in a book, but he would ignore us and carry on.

"Yeah, I mean, we've already got our drug money," Will replied.

"Mate, there are better ways to study that," Dylan said as Al turned a page.

"Perhaps, but I would rather not study the female reproductive system in person, thanks," Al replied.

"I'm sure I speak for Sam and Scor when I say this, but we volunteer," Will said.

"Yes, I know you do," Al replied, going back to his book.

"So what sort of industry?" I asked, turning my attention back to Rose. She was wearing a needlessly short dress that rode up whenever she adjusted her sitting position. At that point, it was just barely covering the apex of her thighs. Idiot that I was at that moment, I barely noticed.

"Technically, we need a way to launder our drug money," she said.

"Isn't that what we have MadCap Industries for?" I asked.

"Yes, but where are we going to explain MadCap getting its money?" Rose asked. "Because I think we should open a nightclub."

"Where you would very much like to be one of the table dancers?" Al piped up, before burying his nose back in his book.

Rose flicked her wand and the book snapped shut on Al's nose.

"I'm serious," she said. "We could sell the drugs there, and pass it off as a legitimate source of income from the daily take, and make it so that MadCap owns the club so that all the money goes back into it and to us."

"Which is seven different shades of against the law," Dylan pointed out.

"Of course it is," I said. "It's money laundering."

"I think we might also do well by going into real estate," Will said.

"Which real estate?" Rose asked.

"Well, I wouldn't really say Knockturn Alley as a whole, but…" Will started.

"But you would," I replied. Will nodded. "I say we start with the building we were living in so that we can have a chance to yell at Ellison for staking out our place."

"Do you have a death wish?" Al asked.

I shrugged. The truth was that once I had got over the adrenaline poisoning I gave myself and changed my pants, it had actually been almost…fun. No, not almost. It was definitely fun. And now that I had money and at least partial assurance my name wasn't going to crop up in the papers as part of the "recently deceased – mob involvement suspected" articles, I was almost itching to do it again.

"Great," Rose said. "I can look for a premise for the club and Blondie can go compare wand size with a notorious mob boss."

"I'd win," I replied automatically.

Everyone stared at me and Rose quirked her eyebrow. "You realise that was a euphemism, right?" she asked.

"You realise I'm still not kidding, right?" I retorted. She surveyed me with renewed interest as though wondering what I looked like naked.

The problem was that Ellison had moved shop. We didn't know where he'd gone and we didn't know anyone who would know. Fortunately, Dom saved the day when she pointed out that the Ellisons still owned the Arrows.

Will, Al and I turned up in the manager's office not a week later. We had decided it should still just be the three of us so that everyone else could be safe for as long as possible.

"What do you want?" the manager asked. His sharp and annoyed tone indicated that he had not been informed of the incident in Ellison's office.

"We want to know where Daniel Ellison moved his office," I replied with a sinister smile.

"Why would you want to know that?" the manager asked. He didn't seem willing to talk.

"He said he'd kill you if you told anyone, right?" Al guessed.

The manager didn't have to nod before Will gave him a bad look. "We'll kill you faster," he assured him.

"Oh, it's not drowning month anymore!" Al said with an affected pout.

"You know, I think June tends to be lovely for free falls without any sort of parachute," Will replied, grinning maliciously.

While they had been talking, the manager had turned bone white and scribbled something out on a piece of paper.

"Just take it," he said, shoving the address at me.

I smiled at him and pulled a business card out of my pocket. "This is for you when you decide you want a better employer."

The manager kept staring at us in terror and we disapparated.

Understandably, Ellison was less than pleased to see us.

"Did you try to have us killed?" I asked in a patronising voice. "Isn't that adorable."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ellison asked, stubbing out his cigar and raising his eyebrow at me.

"Please," I said. "It's Scorpius, Daniel."

He bristled angrily, but didn't say anything.

"We're here on business," I continued. "I understand you own number 19 in Knockturn Alley, and I'd like to buy it from you."

"So what?" Ellison asked. "You've got our drug trade there and now you want our real estate?"

"I can make it worth it," I assured him.

"300,000 galleons, not a knut less," he replied.

I managed not to laugh in his face and signed the deed he offered me. As we turned to leave, he called us back.

"Wouldn't you rather work for an established organisation?" he asked. "We could use someone with your…"

"Arrogance?" I suggested.

"Laissez-faire about danger," Ellison corrected.

I smiled. "Thanks, but I'd prefer to eventually run you out of business."

It was the strangest thing. Somehow, my refusal of his offer garnered me respect in Ellison's eyes. I know there's all this talk about honour amongst thieves – which is bullshit and I'll tell you why eventually – but between various mob families, unless you end up in a blood feud, which we've managed not to do yet, there can certainly be respect as long as you don't step on each other's toes.

We ironed out rent collection with the help of our first customer, who seemed to be relieved we were now in charge of collecting his rent rather than Ellison, and returned to the mansion. As we stepped out of the Floo, we ran into Dom who appeared to be just leaving.

"Oh!" she said in surprise when she saw us. "I was just stopping by for, erm, Rose's…fashion advice."

"Right, of course you were," I said, supressing the knowing smirk threatening to appear.

"So I'll just be going then," Dom said, edging past us and into the fireplace before she spun off to her flat. We'd hired a heavy weight thug to live in the flat next door so that he could make sure Ellison's people weren't going to try anything, and Dom had gone back home a few weeks prior.

Almost as soon as Dom was gone, Sam waltzed – literally – through the entry way with a stupid grin on his face. He stopped when he got to the three of us and played out a drum beat on Will's arm before he carried on down the corridor humming to himself.

We managed to remain composed long enough to gain the kitchen before we collapsed into fits of stupid giggles that have no business coming out of the mouths of three nineteen and almost-nineteen year old blokes.

"It was touching really," Al managed to say.

"Lots of things were touched, that's true," I agreed.

"I'm sure Sam would be more than willing to give you a full report on the female reproductive system if you'd like, Al," Will continued.

"Would you three grow up?" Rose asked, walking into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of iced tea.

"No," we chorused.

Eventually we got over it, but then we were left in a quandary. Now we had a form of income and a way to clean our drug money. So that really left us with the question of what to do now.

Naturally, the answer was pygmy puff husbandry.

* * *

"Of for fuck's sake," McFarlane said. "Pygmy puffs? Really?

"No," I said. I took a last drink of my now cold coffee. "But you looked like you might piss yourself if I kept telling you about being cordial with Daniel Ellison."

McFarlane glared at me. I grinned.

"Oh come on," I said. "You worked vice for three years, you've got to know Ellison pretty well yourself."

"How do you know I worked vice?" McFarlane asked, frowning at me.

I shrugged. "I know everything. Shall I continue?"

**Review!**


	9. Ioan Fucking Finnegan

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing Prunella7, Blood and Dark Chocolate, expect0p4tronum, MaebeSara, Sarnia Nereid. You are all lovely. On a side note, This might be my favourite chapter so far, so I hope you guys like it. **

Chapter Eight - Ioan Fucking Finnegan (Also Rachel Tyler and, well, you)

The next three months led to a routine. Rose found us a basement for the club where we managed to establish our drug trade – simple really, you just have to order the appropriate "beverage" from our bartender – and we had it all set up within two months. It became quite popular with the just-out-of-Hogwarts crowd, and also with previously established criminal element type folks. Ellison and his cronies wouldn't set foot in it, but we didn't bother his hotel franchise either, and whenever we needed to do business, we would conduct it in a carefully neutral location that tended to be the British Museum. I'm actually not quite sure how it ended up being there, but the fact remains that we meet there about once a month so I can purchase the deeds to a building in Knockturn Alley.

September of 2025 got to be interesting, though.

"Mr Malfoy."

I flinched and turned to discover one of our waitresses.

"Please don't call me that," I said, taking a sip of my whiskey. We had deemed it prudent to offer Muggle liquor as well as Wizarding. It turns out that a lot of magical folk are highly enthralled by the idea of things like rum and gin and vodka because they're under the impression that some foolish Muggle beverage couldn't possibly knock them on their asses. They're grossly mistaken, however, and it's always funny to watch them stumble out of our club slurring to their friends, "But it was just _vodka_!"

"Sorry," the waitress replied. "It's just, there's a bloke over there who won't stop with the touching…"

I looked over at the guy she was pointing at and groaned in despair. He was much shorter than me – not hard, as you know – and had sandy hair accented by a drunken leer.

"I'll deal with him," I assured the waitress and she walked away. I finished off my drink and made my way over to his table. "I'm going to have to speak to my bouncer about letting you in."

"Fuck you Malfoy," Ioan Finnegan replied, grinning drunkenly at me. "You don't have a bouncer."

"This is my club," I informed him, crossing my arms and practicing my intimidating stare. I had got quite good at it and Ioan, in his drunken state, didn't take kindly to it. He whimpered slightly and I despaired on his behalf for his masculinity.

"It is?" he mumbled, looking like he might piss himself.

"It is," I agreed. "And I'm sure you can find much more suitable places to spend your evenings."

"But I like it here," he mumbled.

We had been open for a month and were already quite popular. We had set up shop in the basement of a building that was on the crossroads between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. We owned the whole building, naturally, but the club was restricted to the basement.

"That's nice," I said. "Fuck off."

"Or you'll what?" Ioan asked, regrettably afflicted with drunken bravado.

"Ioan, I manage a crime syndicate for a living," I informed him in a pitying voice. "You don't want to know what my version of 'or what' is."

Perhaps I should explain about Ioan. The git had attempted to find the tombs of Hogwarts' founders before we could and in response we had Rose pretend to date him so we could mine his information. When we found the tombs, he realised what was going on and didn't particularly like us after that. Granted, the feeling was mutual, but still.

"Oh yeah, well I'm a criminal too!" Ioan insisted.

Before I could respond, Em happened by. She had finished Hogwarts at the top of her year, and when the lot of us went to pick her up from the train station, Will had snogged her and muttered something to the effect of, "never leave me again," and now they share a room in our mansion. It surprised exactly no one.

"What are you doing here?" Em asked, giving Ioan a disgusted look.

"He claims he's a criminal too," I replied, resting my elbow on her shoulder.

She crossed her arms and looked down at Ioan with disdain. "Oh honey," she said. "You wouldn't know criminal activity if it fucked you with the Elder Wand."

I snorted.

"I will have you know that I'm a thief," Ioan said with a declarative nod.

"Are you," I said, not even bothering to make it a proper question.

"I am," Ioan agreed. "I steal nice things from rich people and sell them on the black market."

"We own the black market," Em replied.

It wasn't strictly true. Well, I mean, it is now, but it wasn't then. At the time we did allow black market trade in our club, because we participated in the drug trade, and we took a cut of whatever went down in exchange for providing a safe location for sketchy deals.

"That's why I'm here," Ioan slurred. "I'm meeting a buyer or a client or something."

We nodded in disbelief, and out of pity left him at his table.

On our way back to the executive lounge, I grabbed the arm of one of our security people. "Keep an eye on the squirrelly Irishman over there," I instructed. "He makes any sudden moves, let me know."

"Yes sir," the security guy agreed before he settled into a comfortable position at the bar where he glared at Ioan through his black sunglasses.

In the executive lounge we discovered Sam snoozing peacefully on one of the sofas with Dom stretched out next to him, her head in his lap. Will and Rose had their heads together at one of the tables while they worked on bookkeeping. We had briefly toyed with the idea of hiring an accountant, but then realised it would be a laughably stupid idea since we were technically cooking the books.

Al was sitting at another table completely obscured by piles of medical textbooks. Dylan was sitting across from him with a half-worried, half-confused look on his face. He looked up when we walked in and waved briefly in greeting. I sat on the end of the sofa closest to him and together we watched Al scribble out an essay.

"You know, I think I may be more worried now than I was when he was drinking," Dylan muttered so only I could hear him.

"You could always tell him that," I suggested at normal volume. Al didn't even flinch or react in any way. I raised my eyebrow. "Hey, isn't that Clive Ahearn without his pants on?"

Al jumped wildly and looked around with enthusiasm. As you know, Clive Ahearn was on the _Most Eligible Bachelors_ list of 2025, number 17, and he played Quidditch for the Magpies. As a completely irrelevant aside, I was 15 on the list that year and I got into the top ten the next year, and stayed there. I think I was sixth this year, which is sort of funny, but unfortunately, I'm now ineligible.

Erm, but less about my ego, Clive Ahearn had taken to lurking in our club since he was friends with Dom and Al had taken to having a huge crush on him.

"You don't have to be a fuck, Scor," Al informed me, going back to his essay after ascertaining that Clive was not currently half-naked in the near vicinity.

"I just wanted to see if you could actually register human voices still," I assured him. "Also yes, yes I do have to be a fuck."

"How's your Healer training going?" Dylan asked in a cautious tone.

Over the past year, they had attained civility, but they hadn't quite got to the point of cordiality.

"Great," Al said, sounding like it very much wasn't great. "I don't remember the last time I studied this hard."

Dylan and I remained silent.

"Which was because the last time I studied this hard, I was too drunk to deal with it or remember what happened," he continued.

"You said it," Dylan mumbled. As expected, Al ignored him.

I decided to ignore their bickering and surveyed the rest of my friends. The executive lounge was reserved for the lot of us and whoever we deemed as appropriate guests to join us there. Frank showed up there occasionally and whichever poor shmuck Rose was shagging at the time. Al was in the habit of getting Dom to invite Clive Ahearn into the executive lounge, at which point he usually managed to close his textbooks (but leave them in sight so he looked smart) and attempt to flirt shamelessly with the Magpies' first Beater. It was almost depressing to watch really, since the only other person Al had ever attempted to flirt with was Dylan and it had been in fourth year and he hadn't really had to do anything since Dylan had wanted him as badly as Al wanted Dylan. In the year since we finished Hogwarts, Dylan had at least gone on several dates, but Al kept being miserly and throwing himself into his studies whenever someone asked him out.

"So, how long do you suppose we have to wait in their relationship before we can start calling Dom a cougar?" I asked Dylan in a stage whisper.

Dylan snickered. "Is that why it sounds like there's a wild animal in Sam's room most nights?"

Without opening her eyes, Dom extended her middle finger in our direction.

"I think you could probably get away with calling her a cougar now," Rose commented with an evil smirk on her face. She was sucking on a red lollypop in ways that should be illegal. Naturally, the illegality wouldn't stop any of us, but I had the passing fancy that I'd like to see what else she could do with her tongue before I shoved the thought away. After all, Rose was my friend and it was all good and fine to leer at her when she wasn't paying attention, but I couldn't do so while she was staring at me.

"You'd call me a cougar if I dated a man four years younger than me," she added with a shrug.

"Immediately, often, and without hesitation," I agreed.

She laughed and went back to her bookkeeping.

"So is this what happens when success gets to your head at an early age?" Dylan asked.

I looked around at the decadent lounge, positively stuffed with black leather sofas, the walls papered in old Muggle film posters and Gryffindor red fabric that made the walls feel soft to the touch. Our lighting was more modern with floating brushed steel and orange glass globes full of scented candles. Although, I don't know why I'm telling you this, McFarlane, since you've been in our executive lounge. Made quite a stir when you turned up with your handcuffs. Of course, I think the stir might have come from the fact I didn't just straight up have you murdered, but anyways.

"Yes, I think it might be," I agreed, starting to settle in for a quick nap before I intended to go flirt with one of the groupies lurking in the club. They tend to flock since people like me and Clive Ahearn and Al are often in the club.

"Mr Malfoy?"

The security guard I had keep an eye on Ioan was standing in the doorway.

"What happened?" I asked.

"The squirrelly Irishman has some woman sitting with him," the security guard explained.

"Squirrelly Irishman?" everyone except Dom asked in perfect unison.

"What the fuck is Ioan doing in our club?" Will asked.

"He claims to be a criminal as well," Em replied.

"What sort of woman is sitting with him?" I asked.

"Thin, nice curves, brunette with blonde highlights," the security guard listed, looking slightly dreamy. I frowned at him.

"So she's entirely out of his calibre?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," the security guard agreed, snapping out of it.

I groaned. "Who wants to go harass Ioan with me?" I asked.

"I will," Dylan offered.

We walked out of the executive lounge to discover that the woman Ioan was sitting with was every bit as lovely as the guard had made her sound. She had a diamond shaped face and crystal blue eyes, her lips were painted a deep shade of pink, and she was wearing a pair of jeans that clung to her in decidedly nice ways. Her shirt only came halfway down her torso and revealed a sparkly bellybutton ring. Whoever she was, she had absolutely no business being with Ioan.

Dylan and I grabbed two chairs and sat down on either side of the table opposite them.

"Who's your friend, Twit?" Dylan asked by way of introduction. He grabbed Ioan's chips from in front of him and ignored Ioan's protests while he ate them.

Unfortunately, Dylan had at one point thought Ioan was fit. Personally, I never saw it, and not just because I'm straight. I can understand at a logical level that Will and Al are technically attractive, but I never understood why both Rose and Dylan thought Ioan was fit.

"Excuse me, this is a private conversation," the woman said. I guessed she was maybe twenty or twenty-one.

"And this is our club," I replied with a mirthless smile. "And while we offer discretion to deserving parties, we also own privacy."

"Isn't that nice," she said, her eyes narrowed at me slightly and her eyebrow raised. "I wanted to speak to the man who discovered the tombs of Hogwarts' founders, so if you wouldn't mind fucking off."

"Check your history books, love," Dylan suggested. "Twitfuck here didn't discover anything. We did."

She frowned at us and then turned her glower on Ioan. "Is that true?"

"I was there at Gryffindor's tomb," Ioan said with a slight quaver in his voice.

"Which I found," I replied, giving him an unimpressed look.

"Then maybe you can help me," the woman said, turning a sparkling smile on me. "Rachel Tyler."

"Scorpius Malfoy," I replied. "And my business partner, Dylan Abramson."

"I swear I can do it," Ioan protested.

"Do what, exactly?" I asked.

Rachel smiled slyly. "Have you heard of the Seraphim Sapphire?"

The Seraphim Sapphire was probably the best known jewel in the Wizarding world. It had been said that the Sapphire could grant its possessor unfathomable wealth and influence without them needing to do anything. Kings and Maharajas and Sheiks had waged whole wars to obtain it, but it had supposedly disappeared after the imposition of the International Statute of Secrecy.

"Who hasn't?" I asked.

Clearly, Dylan hadn't because he was giving me a bewildered look. I tried to express silently that I would explain later.

"Well, I know who's got it," Rachel said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Right," I replied with as much scepticism as I could force into a single syllable word. "If someone actually had the Seraphim Sapphire, they would be running the whole bloody planet."

"Who says he isn't?" Rachel asked with a cocky smirk. "For all you know, he's running whatever organisation you work for and the whole UK."

"I'm flattered that you think we've got the Sapphire, love, but we don't," I replied. "We work for our own organisation."

Rachel deflated slightly. "Well, I think he's biding his time, but he's definitely got it."

"Who's got it?" Dylan asked, figuring he could go along with the conversation without needing to know what it was about.

"His name's Peter Cartwright," Rachel replied. "He's a rising businessman and I know he's got the Sapphire."

"So what?" I asked.

"So I'm going to steal it," Rachel said, and then she smiled.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Sorry, she's trying to _steal_ the Seraphim Sapphire?" Em demanded when Dylan and I relayed the conversation to everyone else back at our manor house. The renovations were going quite nicely. We had decided to keep the decadence of the early twentieth century, but were having the Muggle builders replace the roof and reinforce the walls. They were even insisting on redoing the electrical wiring, even though we had no use for it, but we couldn't exactly tell them that.

"Is she bloody insane?" Will asked.

"I dunno," I said. "Probably."

"She does realise that's suicide, right?" Rose asked.

"Erm…not to play the fools, but what's the deal with this gem?" Dylan asked.

The five of us who weren't Muggleborn turned and stared at him with a twitch in our eyes.

"You know how the Muggles are always on about the Heart of the Ocean or something?" Rose asked.

"That one's fictional," Dylan replied. "But nice to know you've seen _Titanic_."

Rose considered for a moment and then tried again. "The Hope Diamond is real," she said. "I've seen it."

"Yes, the Hope Diamond is real," Dylan agreed. "And rather large and sparkly. Are you saying the Seraphim Sapphire is the Wizarding equivalent of the Hope Diamond?"

"Sort of, except everyone who's ever attempted to forcibly repossess it from someone else has ended up dead within a year," Rose replied. "You have to just find it or be gifted it for it to work. You can't just take it off someone without their consent because it's cursed."

"I can break curses," Sam pointed out. "What does it do?"

"Gives its owner unfathomable wealth and influence," Al replied. "Which they don't have to earn."

We all fell silent for a moment.

"You know, maybe she's not insane," Dylan said finally. "If taking it off someone is what makes it suicide that could be why she was trying to hire Ioan."

"Almost makes me feel bad for the fucker," Will replied.

"No," I said, pretending to think about it. "It doesn't."

"So who is this Peter Cartwright bloke anyways?" Sam asked.

The rest of us shrugged.

I've never been a greedy person, since you know how it is, when you've got money you don't think about it, but the idea of owning the Seraphim Sapphire was playing tricks on my head. For a week following our meeting with Rachel Tyler, I kept waking up after having dreams of the twinkling blue fire that undoubtedly lived in the heart of the gemstone.

I wasn't alone either. Frankly, a better name for the damn thing would've been the Siren Sapphire, but whoever got to name it was apparently in possession of it and felt like it was more an angel than a demonic temptress.

I knew Rose was thinking about it, because she suddenly started wearing sapphire blue. Including one particularly breath-taking satin dress that skimmed over her curves and hung in shimmery waves near her knees. She was wearing it when we ran into each other in one of the corridors of our house.

As I had been at a business meeting that morning, I was wearing a Muggle suit – they always throw off the Wizarding businessmen I deal with and look much better than dress robes – with a sapphire blue silk shirt underneath.

We regarded each other for a moment before she grabbed my hand and disapparated. We arrived in the club. Since it was only three in the afternoon, it was mostly empty, except for one table. I'm sure it won't surprise you that the table was occupied by Rachel and Ioan.

Rachel smiled when we walked over.

"I see you've stopped thinking I'm mad," she said, lightly nibbling on the end of her straw.

"Oh we haven't," Rose assured her, sitting down in one of the empty chairs. Ioan true to form immediately lost his eyes in Rose's cleavage.

"But we do own MadCap Industries and are sitting in the Mad Hatter," I continued. "So by all means, Rachel Tyler. Tell us your plan."

* * *

McFarlane was pacing now. "Rachel Tyler," he said in a mildly strangled tone. "Rachel-" He paused to compose himself and did so poorly. He took a deep breath and undid his tie with violence before he sat down with a thud and kept glaring at me with an ugly look on his face. "Tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?" I asked. I knew exactly why he was having trouble breathing, but the time for showing my hand was not then.

"Tell me you didn't sleep with her," McFarlane said in a mildly begging tone, his fingers burrowing into his furrowed brow like he could make the pain stop.

"Okay," I said. "I didn't sleep with her."

McFarlane glared at me with bright blue eyes. "You're lying, aren't you?"

"Yes," I agreed. "Although to be fair, that is the first lie I've told you."

McFarlane buried his face in his hands. I almost felt bad. "Rachel helped you steal the Seraphim Sapphire from Peter Cartwright."

"Rachel suggested stealing the Seraphim Sapphire from Peter Cartwright," I corrected. "May I continue?" For a moment, he looked like he might say no, but then he nodded.

* * *

Rachel's plan started simple. Obviously, we were going to have to case the joint, which was going to be easily achieved because Peter Cartwright was having a formal function at his house the following week and Rachel had managed to score two guest plus one invitations.

"So Rose – it is Rose, right? – you can accompany Ioan to make sure he doesn't rabbit out, and Scorpius, you and I can go together," Rachel suggested, holding out the tickets. "It's formal, but Wizarding formal, so your Muggle suit might not cut it."

"I have more than a Muggle suit," I replied. Rose looked mildly annoyed at being Ioan's date.

"Looks like you're my plus one again, Rosie," Ioan said with a disgusting grin.

The three of us stared at him for a moment.

"No, Ioan, you're my plus one," Rose replied. "Let's be honest. I'm a Weasley. If this Cartwright bloke knows anything about his modern history, he'll know that having me there immediately makes the party classier."

"Fine," Ioan grumbled looking put out.

Before we could discuss further, there was a flash of white light through the club. Instantly, there was a loud crack when several of our more criminal patrons disapparated. The moment they were gone, the anti-apparition wards sprung back to action.

"What was that?" Rachel asked.

"Whenever the Ministry tries to show up and bust us for selling drugs or allowing the black market here, the bouncer delays them long enough for us to lower the wards and let our more questionable clientele get out," Rose explained. "Then the wards go back up and they're not able to detect that they were ever down."

We had Sam create the charm, since it's Sam and that's what he does. It worked out quite well. Rather ingenious, actually.

"Which part of the Ministry?" Rachel asked, looking panicked.

"Usually the poor fuckers who work vice in the Auror department," I replied with a shrug.

"Vice?" Rachel demanded, her face pale. "Where's the back door?"

"What? Are you a prostitute or something?" Rose asked curiously.

"Just get me out of here now," Rachel replied, jumping to her feet.

Rose rolled her eyes at me but stood up and led Rachel out to the executive lounge and our private entrance.

"What was all that about?" Ioan asked.

"You're the one who found her," I reminded him. "How should I know?"

The vice squad showed up in the club moments after Rachel and Rose had disappeared. The head Auror of the two was wiry and had steely grey hair. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. His partner fanned out and searched the various patrons of our establishment. The lead Auror marched straight up to our bartender and said something harshly to him in a Scottish accent. The bartender pointed in my direction.

The moment the Auror presented himself in front of me, I ignored him. I took a drink of my whiskey and kept ignoring him while he glared down at me with his arms crossed.

Eventually he started tapping his foot, so I rolled my eyes.

"Might I ask why your partner is currently frisking my customers?" I asked in the iciest tone I could manage.

"Are you the manager of this establishment?" the Auror asked me.

"No," I said, looking around for the actual manager. At Frank's suggestion, we had hired Lucy Weasley who did quite a good job of it. Of course, considering she was Frank's girlfriend, she was also deeply embroiled in our drug trade and had pissed off when we got the Auror warning. "Our manager is…out."

"Then who the bloody hell are you?" the Auror asked.

I set my whiskey down and stood up, slightly delighted by the fact I was half a foot taller than him. "This is my club," I said. "I own it. So why is your partner frisking my customers?"

The Auror sized me up, no fear in his eyes. I wasn't sure if my reputation had got around to the Ministry yet, but I was trying to stay off their radar as long as possible.

"We received an anonymous tip that this place is a haven for drug smuggling," the Auror informed me. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind me searching the premise?"

"Go right ahead," I said. "There's nothing illegal here. Well, except for the way your partner just fondled my waitress."

The Auror investigated my claim from afar and groaned quietly enough I could barely hear him. "Oi, Davenport!" he called. "Leave the customers alone. We're going to search the stock rooms."

"Be my guest," I said, gesturing sweepingly around the room. I sauntered over to the bar. "Daly, why don't you get these fine Ministry employees a drink? On the house."

The Auror wandered away mumbling to himself about spoiled rich brats living off their parents' wealth and refused my drinks. I let them search without hovering, since that always makes them more nervous, and returned to my seat opposite Ioan.

"We'll meet at our manor to go over the final details on Saturday morning," I instructed, pulling out a business card and scribbling our Floo address on the back. I stood up and headed back over to the bar. "Daly, be sure the Aurors eventually find their way out. And keep the handsy one away from the girls."

Daly nodded in agreement and I walked out of the club so I could disapparate.

* * *

McFarlane had calmed down significantly and seemed to almost be laughing.

"I figured you would've spiked whatever drink you gave me," he admitted.

"I was offering you free liquor," I replied. "Of course it was spiked. Just not with drugs. I'm not stupid."

McFarlane shrugged like he wasn't sure. "I didn't think you remembered that evening."

"Of course I do," I said. "You've been a pain in my arse since then. I thought I'd got rid of you when you got transferred off vice, but no, that would've been too easy."

"So you knew exactly who I was when I first brought you in here, didn't you?" he asked.

"McFarlane, I know most things about you," I replied. "There's a reason I'm talking to you rather than one of your colleagues like Davenport, the handsy fuck."

"He got fired," McFarlane replied. "Actually, he got fired for groping your waitresses."

I nodded. "Good," I said. I inspected the bottom of my empty coffee mug and sighed. "And, I'm sorry. Had I known then that you had just got divorced and were working on the tenth step of your twelve step programme, I would never have offered you a drink."

McFarlane frowned at me. "Why do you know that?"

I smirked and shook my head pityingly. "You'll find out."

**Review!**


	10. That One Night When I Was a Dirty Whore

**A/N: So, I'd just like to say that this story definitely became bigger than I had intended it to be. Oh well. Also as a random aside, someone on Pottermore keeps sending me excessive amounts of beetles eyes for no reason I can understand. Every few weeks I suddenly have about a hundred more beetles eyes and I don't understand. Also, Prunella7 gets a gold star because she figured out the end of this chapter (at least part of it) during the last chapter. Charlottembp, FairyLightsAndGlitter, and Sarnia Nereid also get gold stars for reviewing. **

Chapter Nine - That One Night When I Was a Dirty Whore

When Rose walked down the staircase, our grand, sweeping staircase framed by sparkly chandeliers and flickering candlelight, all dressed up for the party at Peter Cartwright's house, I had literally no other train of thought besides, "Holy shit."

It took me a long moment to process that she was still putting her earrings in and had an annoyed look on her face, because she looked so damn good. Her hair was in controlled ringlets and pinned to the back of her head so it cascaded down her back in tumbles of shiny curls that I wanted nothing more than to undo with my fingers. All her freckles were covered by whatever magical makeup she used and she had painted her lips in glossy scarlet that I figured probably tasted as good as it looked. A sparkly diamond choker encircled her neck and matched the dangly earrings she was putting in and the loose diamond bracelet on her wrist. It was only later that I noticed those details, however, since I was hung up on her dress. It had clearly been tailor made and was fitted to her every curve, the skirt brushing the floor and the bodice supporting everything that needed support. A nineteenth century bustle was attached to the back and fell in folds of fabric down into a train. Everything about her was scarlet from her hair to her dress and I was suddenly very hungry to find out what the physical embodiment of scarlet tasted like.

"Who broke Scorpius?" Dylan asked, happening through the entryway without noticing Rose. I didn't react except to keep staring with my jaw slack. Dylan followed my gaze and suddenly his expression mirrored mine. "Holy shit."

"Thanks," Rose said, finally getting her earring in and smiling at Dylan. "Blondie, your eyes are on the carpet."

I finally managed to shake myself out of it.

"Also, your bowtie is undone," she informed me, standing too close in order to tie it.

A wolf whistle alerted us to the presence of Ioan and Rachel. Ioan was staring at Rose with a similar expression to mine. She rolled her eyes and made a quick facial expression at me that mimed vomit. I snorted as quietly as possible.

"You clean up nicely," Rachel informed me, putting her invitation into her clutch purse and clasping it shut.

"Thanks," I said. Her black dress wasn't quite as stunning as Rose's red, but then I had always been partial to red. Maybe it's a Gryffindor thing.

She gave me an expectant look until I finally cottoned on. "So do you," I said. Rose tightened my bowtie at that moment a little too tightly and I coughed. She gave me a small, smug smile and stepped away from me.

"Well, shall we then?" Rachel asked, holding out her hand so she could take my elbow. I offered it after a moment's hesitation.

Ioan grinned stupidly at Rose until she took his arm and we headed for the fireplace.

"Wait, I've just got to get a picture of this," Dylan said, producing a camera from nowhere and aiming it at the four of us.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because otherwise Al, who is studying, and Will, Em, and Sam who are all currently getting laid, will never know that we actually got Rose in a dress that covers her thighs," Dylan replied, snapping a picture.

"Fuck you," Rose replied, dragging Ioan into the fireplace. They spun off and Rachel and I followed them.

Peter Cartwright's house was magnificent. It was the modern take on our mansion with a white and black foyer. The doorman accepted our invitations and showed us through to the grand ballroom replete with dancing couples, groups of businessmen gossiping, groups of their wives talking business, and then suddenly, a gaggle of small children in fancy attire ran by chasing each other. One of the girls ran into my leg on her way by and paused to rush out an apology before chasing the other kids.

"Sorry about that," a tall man in his late forties, immaculately dressed, golden hair slicked back said, smiling happily at us. "Apparently, one can only do so much when instructing one's daughters against chasing boys."

He seemed to realise that none of us were old enough to know what he was talking about from personal experience because he shook his head at himself and extended his hand around.

"Peter Cartwright," he said. "And who might you all be?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," I replied, shaking his hand. "And my…date…Rachel Tyler."

"What sort of business are you in, Mr Malfoy?" he asked, kissing Rachel's hand.

She looked affronted very briefly – maybe a hint of guilt that she was trying to steal his good fortune – but hid it before he looked up.

"Real estate mostly," I said.

"For what company?" he asked, letting go of Rachel's hand.

"MadCap Industries, investment sector," I replied.

"I've heard of your company," he said. "Who's your CEO again, I can't quite recall the name."

"It's Rose Weasley, Mr Cartwright," Rose piped up.

He turned his attention to her and positively beamed at her. "Which, I assume, is you?"

"Yes," she agreed, extending her hand for him to shake. Instead, he kissed it like he had with Rachel's. "And my…date…Ioan Finnegan."

She did her best to not sound displeased saying Ioan's name. Cartwright shook Ioan's hand.

"It's funny that you're in real estate, Mr Malfoy," Cartwright said. "One of our other guests is an investor in real estate as well." He scanned the crowd before alighting upon the person he was looking for. "The chap over by the fireplace smoking a cigar. Perhaps the two of you would find common business interests."

"Mr Cartwright," Rose said with an amused smile. A sharp claw poked the jealousy centre of my brain, but I shoved it away. I didn't like it when Rose shared her amused smile with other men. It was a smile she only usually shared with me when we were having a laugh at someone's expense. "Don't tell me you've invited all of us here together so we can make business connections."

"My dear," Cartwright said, taking Rose's hand on his arm and steering her away through the crowds. "There are people here who would be delighted to make business connections with you."

His voice was soon lost in the crowd.

"I'm going to go get us drinks," Ioan offered, wandering off.

"I'm going to use the loo," Rachel said with a wink, leaving no doubt in my mind she was just going to go off and start our search of the house.

I figured I might as well see what other real estate mogul happened to be in attendance and made my way to the fireplace. Naturally, in keeping with the general theme of my life, it was Ellison.

"Ah, Malfoy," Ellison said with a practiced tired irritation. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"Because you've learned to expect it of me to turn up in places you'd rather never have to deal with me?" I suggested.

Ellison nodded in agreement. "Maybe I'll have Cartwright murdered for inviting you."

"That's a little unnecessary," I replied. Ellison shrugged.

"You know there are Weasleys here," he said. "Bloody law-abiding sycophants, the lot of them."

"Actually, I have several Weasleys in my employ," I replied. "So I wouldn't say _all _of them were law-abiding sycophants."

Ellison eyed me with new respect. "Whatever happened to the chap I sent round to your club two weeks ago with some of our product?"

I sighed. It's been a pattern. Every so often Ellison would send someone to our club to try and sell his own drug supply, and every time we'd caught his person. It was getting annoying.

"I had him disposed of," I replied.

Ellison grunted. "You know we send them there to test their worth, don't you?"

"You should stop," I suggested. "We always catch them, and then you lose otherwise competent runners."

Ellison shrugged.

"Of course, now that you've told me that, I'll just hire them away from you instead of getting rid of them," I continued.

Fortunately for my conscience and criminal record, which is quite extensive I realise, my version of "getting rid of" or "disposing" someone was different than Ellison's. Ellison was convinced I'd had them killed, which worked out well for my reputation. What I actually meant was that we'd had Sam readjust their lifetime memories and send them off to be relief workers in impoverished countries where there were few forms of communication and it was unlikely Ellison would ever find them again.

Ellison shrugged again and then I heard Rose gasp from across the room.

"Dad?" she asked, sounding horrified.

I turned to Ellison. "You didn't just mean the Weasley I turned up with, did you?"

"No," he agreed, smirking at me.

I gave him an ugly look and worked my way through the crowd to find Rose. She was face to face with Hermione and Ron Weasley who were both as dressed up as we were and seemed as utterly shocked to find their daughter there as she was to find them. Ron also appeared to be four sheets to the wind.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Hermione asked, hugging her daughter and then catching sight of me. "Malf – Scorpius."

"Hello," I said.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron asked, glaring at me.

"Attending a party," I replied trying not to notice the desperate looks Rose was shooting me out of the corner of her eye. They said quite clearly, 'get me out of here.' Then I remembered that Ron Weasley was an Auror and Hermione worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Doing the only thing I could think of on short notice, I slid my hand onto Rose's lower back in a noticeable way.

"I hear there's a spectacular garden, love," I whispered just loudly enough for Ron and Hermione to hear me. "We could go…investigate it."

She looked like she wanted to strangle me with my own bowtie, but Ron looked nauseous. Rose noticed and pulled me a step away from her parents, who immediately turned to mutter to each other.

"Someone said there are these hidden copses of fruit trees where no one can see you," I continued in a normal volume voice I was sure Ron could hear. "Where a person could get lost for ages trying to find their way out of that dress – I mean the trees."

It had the desired effect because Ron turned green and looked as though he might shortly vomit all over his dress shoes.

"Well, Rosie, we'll be going home," Ron said, wrenching Rose out of my grasp and holding her tightly. He apparently had no desire to be at a party where one of the pieces of entertainment – at least for me – might be shagging his daughter, which was exactly what I had been aiming for.

"Ronald, you're being ridiculous," Hermione informed him, but he ignored her and pulled her out of the ballroom before he got sick.

"That was effective," Rose said, sounding pensive.

I shrugged and saw Rachel return to the ballroom out of the corner of my eye. She shook her head at me to indicate she hadn't found anything.

"I'm going to go take a look for hidden treasure," I said with a grin before I slipped out a side door and into a lavish hallway. There were marble floors everywhere in black and white with a red runner down the middle. After wandering through several dark rooms and empty hallways, I found my way to a tightly wound spiral staircase. It led upstairs to what appeared to be servants' quarters with narrow rooms and summoning bells. At the end of the empty servants' quarters, I found myself in another lavish hallway, although this one seemed more suited for family life. There was a large framed portrait of Cartwright with a small blonde woman clamped under his arm while two ten or twelve year old girls stood beneath their parents smiling.

The four waved at me from the frame with perfect Stepford smiles on their faces.

"Nauseating, isn't it?" an American voice asked from somewhere near my elbow. "Guests aren't supposed to be up here, you know."

The girl speaking to me was wearing a floor length, floaty and somewhat sheer lavender dress that was entirely open at the back, and she had her strawberry hair styled so that it was tucked up elegantly at the nape of her neck, but a single streak of electric purple ran from her temple before disappearing into the bun.

"Isobel?" I asked in utter confusion.

She glanced up at me and did a double take.

"Scorpius?" she asked, sounding just as confused as I was. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I replied.

She turned back to the portrait of Cartwright's family. "The dishonourable first wife doesn't get to be in the portrait," she replied. "Especially since she was American and a Muggle."

I glanced from the painting of Cartwright to Isobel and back again. They had the same perfectly straight nose and blue-grey eyes.

"You're Cartwright's daughter?" I asked.

She tipped her glass of champagne in my direction in acknowledgment before she finished it off and left it on an end table full of flowers.

"So what are you doing here?" she asked. "You haven't been stalking me since that night at the Leaky Cauldron, have you?"

"No," I assured her. "Your dad's invited all sorts of business people together tonight, including me."

"You're in business?" she asked in disbelief.

"Oh come on," I said. "You don't even know my last name. I'm sure lots of things about me would surprise you."

She groaned. "Don't act mysterious," she requested.

"Why not?" I asked with a smirk.

"Because I think whoever your date is might protest when I steal you away to have my way with you," she replied.

"I wouldn't," I said.

She bit her lip and looked pained. "Guests really aren't supposed to be up here."

"So?" I asked.

"So if any of my father's security people find you, you're toast," she replied.

I shrugged. "I've dealt with worse."

"What are you?" she asked. "Batman?"

"Who?" I asked.

She gave me a disdainful look, but then shook her head almost fondly. Before I could get her to explain herself, clipped footsteps echoed down the end of the hall. Isobel shot me a panicked look, and then kissed me. I shrugged and went with it, allowing her to pull me towards her so that her back was against the wall. I slid my hands down to her arse and a brief memory of what she looked like naked danced through my head.

"Oi!" a sharp voice called from the end of the corridor. We broke apart and looked towards the security detail. His face softened when he recognised Isobel. "Sorry Miss Cartwright. Is this one bothering you?"

"I wouldn't say bothering," Isobel replied with a slightly evil grin. "But you're right. We probably should head back to the party."

The security detail nodded and carried on with his rounds while Isobel led me by the hand back down a set of stairs to the party.

"Sorry about that," Isobel said when we reached the main foyer. She also let go of my hand.

"It's fine," I assured her. "I'm not actually dating my date, so don't worry about it."

"And the mystery grows," she replied. "So what is your last name?"

"Malfoy," I said. "It means bad-"

"Bad faith in Middle French?" she replied. I blinked at her. She shrugged one shoulder. "I like history and names. Well, I'll see you around Scorpius Malfoy."

She winked at me and disappeared into the crowd.

I _almost_ felt bad about my intent to assist in the stealing of the Seraphim Sapphire from her father. Almost. But not quite enough to keep from trying.

Rose, Ioan, and Rachel had congregated near the fire. Ellison was standing near them watching with interest. It occurred to me that Rose didn't know Ellison at all, and all Ellison knew about her was that she was a Weasley in my sort-of employ.

I managed to keep a suspicious look off my face and made my way towards them. As I arrived, I realised it was Rachel that Ellison was looking at with interest.

"Excuse me," he said as I stepped within hearing range. Rachel turned towards him with no sort of recognition on her face. "Are you Rachel Tyler?"

"Yes," Rachel agreed, looking confused about why he was talking to her. "Who are you?"

"Daniel Ellison," I introduced. I turned to give Ellison a disapproving look. "Why are you talking to my date?"

"Because I believe she once stole several million galleons from me," Ellison replied.

"Hah, whoops," Rachel replied, looking vaguely apologetic about it.

"I think I could use the powder room," Rose said, excusing herself from the awkward situation quickly arising between Ellison and Rachel.

"I don't like it when people steal from me," Ellison continued.

"Now, Danny," I said, slightly stepping between him and Rachel. "Rachel is in my current employ. Give it a few months, and then you can renegotiate your money, but as of right now, you wouldn't really want to step any closer."

Ellison gave me a bad look and took a step back.

"Absolutely boffing, there's a good chap," I said in the most pompous voice I could manage. Ellison glared.

Before he could get any funny ideas, I took Rachel's arm and pulled her away from him leaving Ioan to scramble after us.

"You stole money from Daniel Ellison?" I whispered harshly.

"I am not in your employ, Malfoy," she whispered back.

"No, you're not, but my telling him that is about the only thing ensuring you aren't going to wake up tomorrow at the bottom of the Thames with concrete blocks on your feet," I replied. "Because that's what he normally does to people who steal from him."

"So why hasn't he tried to kill you yet?" Rachel asked in a waspish tone.

"He has," I replied. "Approximately four times now. It's sort of a routine when he gets bored. And then we have a laugh about it and I buy more of his property."

She looked me over with slightly more respect in her eyes. "If Daniel Ellison is one of the most ruthless mob bosses in the last century, then what are you?"

"I'm not to be fucked with," I replied.

Before Rachel could reply, a small hand gripped my bicep and a velvety voice whispered in my ear, "There's a safe in the office on the second floor. I didn't get the opportunity to investigate the security since a body man walked by."

I caught just a hint of Rose's floral perfume before she let go of me and grabbed a passing glass of champagne.

"Follow me," Rachel whispered, and then she stood back and slapped me across the face. I recoiled in shock and she stormed across the dance floor with her nose in the air and her skirt bunched in her hand so she could storm effectively.

"Rachel!" I called after her, well aware that everyone was staring at us. I grimaced apologetically to those nearest us and ran after her. She was waiting for me in the empty foyer and together we ran up the stairs, occasionally ducking behind strategically useful potted plants to avoid security people.

"That hurt," I informed her, rubbing my face when we stepped into the office. There were several bookcases and a grand desk that rivalled Ellison's and made me really want my own desk. Set into the wall behind the desk and between the bookcases was a black safe.

"It was for saying I was in your employ," she informed me.

"Oh, so that's how you repay people for saving your life?" I asked snidely.

She shrugged and removed her wand from her cleavage. She waved it at the safe and a light purple light floated towards it. After a moment, the light floated back and returned to her wand.

"Come on," she said, pulling me out of the office.

"What was that?" I asked.

"It'll record the protective enchantments so we can get your autistic Charms savant to deal with them," she replied.

"Sam is not autistic," I said. She started to say something in response, but a set of clipped footsteps started echoing towards us. I had a brief train of thought that went something along the lines of, "you've got to be kidding me," before Rachel pushed me back against the office door and snogged me. Unexpectedly, there were sparks. I wasn't sure if it was because she'd recently slapped me, or if it was because we were about to be caught sneaking around with intent to thieve and the adrenaline was flowing with abandon, but despite my better judgment, I actually wanted to keep snogging her.

Down the hall, a security guard cleared his throat. Reluctantly, we broke apart and looked towards him. Because Fate hates me and wishes me nothing but ill, it was the same security guard who had caught me with Isobel earlier.

He raised his eyebrow at me and the fact I still had one hand clasped to the back of Rachel's neck and the other on her waist.

"I think it's time you leave, Mr Malfoy," the security guard said.

"Right you are then," I agreed while he shooed us down the hall and onto the stairs. I didn't realise I was holding Rachel's hand until we ran into Rose and Ioan in the hall.

They were clearly waiting for us, which made the security guard more suspicious than he already was, considering he'd come across me making out with two separate girls over the course of the night.

Rose, as a master of all social situations, immediately understood that the security guard was suspicious. She gave an affected giggle and clutched Ioan's arm.

"All that champagne went to my head," she said with a bubbly intonation that she certainly does not use when actually drunk. She addressed her question to the security guard. "Do you think you could call me a cab?"

"A cab?" he repeated, looking bewildered.

"Don't mind her," Ioan suggested, for once displaying his Ravenclaw schooling. "Muggle upbringing and all. When she's drunk she gets a bit confused."

The security guard nodded slowly, clearly still suspicious.

"Weren't you going to shove us into a Floo grate or something?" Rachel asked him.

The security guard glowered and shooed all four of us to the Floo. He loaded Rose and Ioan in first and they spun off back to the manor.

"I'll guess you would rather I _didn't_ mention your indiscretion to Isobel?" the security guard asked, crossing his arms and flexing his impressive biceps at me.

"Who's Isobel?" Rachel asked, genuinely confused.

I shushed her and pulled her into the fire grate. I gave my address and we spun off to the foyer of our manor instead.

"So did we get the information we need?" Al asked the moment all four of us were standing in the entryway.

"We did," Rose agreed.

"Where's your savan-" Rachel started, but I cut her off with a swift toe to her exposed foot.

"Sam," I corrected.

Rachel looked annoyed and somewhat miffed that I had stepped on her foot, but gave up. "Where's _Sam_?" she asked with a dramatic overemphasis on his name. "We've got charms for him to work out."

Al wandered off to find Sam while Rose started unpinning her hair.

"I'm going to go to sleep," she announced, hitting me in the face with her scarlet curls as she turned around. "I really did drink too much champagne."

Champagne tends to make her feel slightly ill, kind of like Ioan, so I wasn't too surprised that she was headed to bed.

Ioan piped up to say something hopeful about joining her, but Rose cut him off.

"Go home, Ioan," she instructed. Ioan deflated and lurked off into the fireplace.

Moments later, Al returned with Sam in tow. Rachel offered him the purple light that had scanned the safe and his face lit up with childlike excitement. He started babbling a mile a minute about how he absolutely _loved_ Charm puzzles and how they made him dizzy with glee or something and wandered off into the study to start figuring it out.

"Oh no," Al muttered, watching him go. "He's going to keep mumbling to himself while I study."

He sighed heavily and bid us goodnight before he headed for the study as well.

"See, I told you he was a savant," Rachel said.

"We need to have a long talk about etiquette," I informed her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her up the stairs. "For example, slapping someone who just saved your life and causing a scene is not an appropriate reaction in polite society."

"Like you would know anything about polite society," she snapped. "Isn't forcefully dragging a woman somewhere considered taboo in 'polite society'?"

"So is acting ditzy an apologetic to a mob boss from whom you stole several million galleons," I replied, pulling her down the corridor of the second storey.

"Wow, if you're this quick to get your panties in a bunch about a stupid heist I pulled four years ago, I dread to think what your 'high society' handbook dictates you should do about the fact I snogged you as a distraction," she sneered, while I wrenched my bedroom door open and shoved her inside.

"Surprisingly, that actually happens to me a lot," I replied, kicking the door shut behind me.

"I'm sure that's about the only action you ever get, isn't it?" she taunted, a smug smirk on her face.

"Oh, shut up," I growled, running my hand through her hair and kissing her. She pulled off my bowtie and quickly did away with my robes -

And suddenly the room was overrun by pygmy puffs and absolutely nothing happened because Al turned up and demanded we help him revise for his Disfiguring Diseases exam and – no, of course I'm making that up.

Look, I was just trying to spare your sanity alright? I got a bit carried away and forgot who I was talking to, so forgive me.

"I don't remember you at all from Hogwarts," I said later. She had one hand on my chest and the other was holding my hand where it was pressed against her waist. "What house were you in?"

"Slytherin," she replied. I wasn't even a little surprised.

"You weren't by chance dyed pink at the end of you sixth or seventh year, were you?" I asked trying to sound casual.

"Sixth," she replied. "Everyone thought you were responsible for that, you know."

"I was," I said.

"And you wouldn't remember me from Hogwarts – besides the fact you were in Gryffindor and I was a Slytherin – because my surname isn't Tyler," she said.

"It isn't?" I asked. She had her eyes closed like she was about to fall asleep whilst using me as a pillow.

"No," she said. "Tyler's my middle name."

"So what's your surname?" I asked curiously.

She smiled slightly. "McFarlane," she said.

**Review!**


	11. Because We All Make Stupid Mistakes

**A/N: So, at one point in this chapter, I made a reference to Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love and then proceeded to unwittingly buy a song that Courtney Love was actually featured on. I thought it was kind of funny. Also, when I started writing this story, it was supposed to be approximately the same length as the first two in the series and about as serious and both those things have drastically changed. Apparently, once I hit 40,000 words, I start automatically doing bad things to my characters, for which I apologise. Also, this chapter is way longer than I meant for it to be. I wanted to finish the Seraphim Sapphire story arc in this chapter, and so then this monstrosity happened. **

Chapter Ten - Because We All Make Stupid Mistakes (But Whether My Mistake or Ioan's Mistake Was Worse Remains to Be Seen)

McFarlane and I stared at each other across the interrogation table.

"It would make me feel better to put you in handcuffs again," he said.

"It really wouldn't," I assured him. "I promise."

"And why is that?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond, but he held his hand up before I could say anything. "Actually, do I want to know?"

"No," I said.

He sighed. "Out of curiosity, do you make it a habit of telling the fathers of girls you've been…intimate…with that you've had relations with their daughters?"

"Define 'habit,'" I replied. "I would never in a million years tell Ron Weasley I'm shagging his daughter, although I'm pretty sure he knows anyway. But, I mean, I did tell Peter Cartwright about Isobel. And now, well, you…"

McFarlane's face was contorted into a downward point that made him look vaguely like a vulture. "My disdain for your existence cannot be expressed accurately through words."

"I know," I replied. I shrugged. "But it's not like you've talked to her in six years anyways."

"Perhaps not, but from what you've told me, you're Mr One-Night-Stand and whatever else she might be, Rachel is still my daughter and I find it deplorable that someone like you would use her like she was disposable," he snarled.

"I didn't," I said, deeply disliking the fact that Sam's over-honesty had rubbed off at some point. "Because if it hadn't been for what happened with Ioan and the honour-amongst-thieves thing being crap, there's a very decent chance you would've ended up being my father-in-law."

It was an ugly silence that fell across the interrogation room.

"And when I said that you've been a pain in my arse since the first day you showed up on vice to search my club, I meant that as a general statement towards your entire clan," I continued.

"You dated my daughter?" McFarlane asked finally, looking slightly mollified.

"For a while," I replied. "Can I continue with this please? After all, you're the one who asked me to tell you _everything_."

McFarlane spared me one last glare and then shuffled off to get more coffee. This time, Rose didn't pop down for a visit, but I was absolutely sure it had to do with what I'd just said about Rachel. It's been three years since we broke up and Rose still can't stand her.

McFarlane returned and slid the mug of coffee to me. "What's the date?" he asked.

"October 31st – or no, I guess it's November 1st now, of 29," I replied, taking a drink of my coffee.

"I meant in your story," he replied.

"Late September of 25," I said. He nodded slowly. "And Sam was having trouble decrypting the enchantments protecting the safe."

* * *

"They're way more complicated than you'd expect a normal level wizard to be able to conjure," Sam explained, shoving his mostly unnecessary reading glasses up his nose. He only needed them to magnify the miniscule print in the Charms book he was poring over.

"What's a normal level wizard?" Dom asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He'd been refusing to get it cut since it meant he couldn't spend every waking moment studying his Charms books. Rachel had offered to charm it shorter for him, but he'd taken one look at her outstretched wand and scuttled farther across the library.

"Someone who's not like me with Charms, or Will with Transfiguration, or Em with Potions," Sam explained. "Or Frank with Herbology."

"So you think another savant was responsible for the enchantments?" Rachel asked, attempting to play nice with him. They didn't get along very well, which was actually sort of impressive, since Sam got on with everyone. Well, everyone who could stand his incessant Charms technobabble, and Rachel couldn't.

She had explained at some point during the week since Cartwright's party that "savant" wasn't actually an insult and that she just felt sort of weird referring to someone she knew as a prodigy.

"I think it must be," Sam said. "I'm pretty sure I could cast these charms effectively, but I'm not sure even I could break them properly without help. Someone quite close to my level has to have done them."

"Are you sure?" Will asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "They're all modified in some way, and some of them are original."

He pouted then because he hadn't been the one to come up with the charms.

"Hey you lot," Dylan said, wandering into the library with the _Daily Prophet_ open in his hands. Dom, Sam, Will, Rachel, and I looked over at him. He turned the paper around so we could see the cover picture. It showed Peter Cartwright shaking hands with the Minister for Magic with a huge grin on his face. "Peter Cartwright, up and coming entrepreneur of Cartwright Incorporated, was recently awarded the 'Philanthropist of the Year' award by the Magical United Kingdom Royal Advisory. His contributions to the Magic for Muggles charity have allowed for a significant decrease in the number of necessary orphanages in the UK and parts of Eastern Europe."

Dylan closed the paper.

We avoided each other's eyes while Dylan flipped through the paper to the back section. "In other news," he read. "The Homicide Division of the Auror Department reports a twenty percent decrease in violent crime in Knockturn Alley from the last fiscal year."

"Wasn't that when we started buying property there?" I asked.

"Yeah," Dylan agreed.

"So we're at least doing some good," Will said. The rest of us still looked shifty, but returned our attention to Sam.

"So what are you going to need to break the charms?" Rachel asked.

"Time," Sam replied shortly, and then he retreated into his charms puzzle brain space and none of us got anything useful out of him for a month. Well, I mean, Dom got _some_ things out of him, but none of it was coherent speech.

While the rest of us left Sam alone in the library so he couldn't yell at us for thinking stupid thoughts in his vicinity (as he was wont to do on occasion – still is for that matter) we grumbled about waiting around, and then remembered we were successful career criminals anyways and we could wait a bit to crack some poor bloke's safe.

"So," Rachel said, grabbing my wrist and stopping me from joining Will, Dylan, and Dom out on our lawn-turned-Quidditch-pitch.

"What?" I asked.

"It just…occurs to me that we're going to be working together for at least a little while and it won't do to have you leering at my tits when you think I'm not looking," she said.

"I don't leer at your tits," I replied dismissively. Honestly, I didn't.

She raised her eyebrow at me. "Because you're too busy staring at Rose's?"

"No!" I insisted. And at the time, I actually wasn't.

"Oh, sorry," she said. "I suppose Dom, maybe?"

I gave her a disgusted look. "She's dating one of my best friends."

She looked confused. "That actually stops people?"

"Yes, it does," I assured her. "No, I don't leer at your tits because you're not my type."

Her eyebrow twitched. "Didn't seem like it on Saturday," she said.

"You're infuriating," I informed her.

"I've also been doing yoga recreationally since I was thirteen," she replied with a smug smile.

I considered her implications for a moment. "You're just trying to get me into bed again, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she agreed as though I was stupid to think she had been attempting anything else.

"Why didn't you just say that?" I asked, pulling her by the hand up the stairs towards my room. It quickly became a routine, and before I really registered what was happening, she started staying over a few nights a week, and then wearing my clothes, and turning up in the kitchen in the mornings wearing naught but one of my dress shirts and her knickers and confusing the hell out of everyone who lived in the house.

"You finally got over the one-night-stand business then?" Will asked one night in early October while we sat at the club.

"Apparently," I said, stirring my martini with the cocktail olive. I don't know what that Muggle James Bond fellow was on about. If you shake a martini it gets entirely homogenised and it's not interesting to see which flavours you get in any given sip. When you stir them, it gets mixed unevenly, which frankly I prefer.

"So are you two dating then?" Will asked. He looked like he was about to burst out laughing at the idea.

"Why would that be funny?" I replied.

"I dunno," Will said. "Because it's you, I guess. You're not the relationship and normal progression towards marriage type."

"You're not exactly a family man yourself, Corner," I replied icily.

"What are you talking about?" Will asked. He knew exactly what I was talking about, but didn't appear to realise I had been paying attention.

"I saw the utter panic in your eyes last month when Em thought she might be pregnant," I replied. I smirked at him. "I notice things, see."

Will frowned at me and finished his drink, leaving me to wonder if maybe I should attempt to date Rachel, if for no other reason than it would confuse him.

So I gave it a shot.

"Do you want to get dinner?" I asked a few nights later. Rachel was in the process of unzipping her jeans and pulling a pair of handcuffs out of her back pocket when I asked. I had discovered over the past two weeks that she had a thing for handcuffs, but no definitive preference for whether she locked me up or wore them herself – oh, sorry, I said you didn't want to know, didn't I? whoops… - but now she was staring at me like I'd gone mad.

"Like, right now?" she asked, looking confused, especially since the jeans were the last things she had on. I took a long moment to leer at her tits and then shook my head.

"No, not right now, just in general," I replied.

"Like, as a date?" she asked, now very confused.

"I suppose," I said, starting to wonder if she was going to burst out laughing at me. She didn't and instead agreed.

When we actually went out to a decent restaurant – I had offered the restaurateur a loan to get out of debt with Ellison a while back and now I dine there for free – I realised I knew almost nothing about her except that she had been in Slytherin, her last name was McFarlane, and she had once stolen several million galleons from Daniel Ellison. She had also mentioned something about it being four years prior, which by my questionable grasp on maths meant she had stolen several million galleons from Daniel Ellison when she was sixteen.

"So did you really steal from Ellison during your sixth year?" I asked.

"Summer before seventh," she replied. "Some Gryffindor git had just dyed my entire house pink and I felt like striking back at the world."

She smirked at me and took a drink of her wine.

"Did you know who he was?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I had a vague idea, but not really. It was my first heist."

"Your parents must have been very proud," I said.

She laughed. Whatever other blatant flaws she might have, she does have a nice laugh when she doesn't sound completely evil. Granted, she sounds completely evil most of the time, but occasionally it's nice.

"Let's see…" she said, pretending to think about it. "My mum divorced my dad when I was six because she couldn't stand the fact he was both a workaholic and an alcoholic – addictive personalities run in my family – and, well, Scottish, and she left me with him. So she didn't know. Probably still doesn't. I think she lives in Majorca or something. But my dad's an Auror, so he wasn't too impressed."

"Your dad's an Auror?" I asked, briefly entertaining the idea she was a Ministry mole planted to spy on us. But no, as you well know, that was later.

"Oh come on," she said. "Al's dad heads the department and Rose's dad is one of them as well."

I didn't feel like pointing out that I was more inclined to trust them than I was to trust her since I had been friends with them for years and had known her for four weeks.

"Anyway, he works vice these days, but he was on white collar crimes for a while, and I lifted a few priceless heirlooms from some pureblood family at the end of my seventh year, he figured out it was me and was compelled to arrest me, but I managed to evade arrest, and haven't talked to him since," she continued. "I think he got transferred to vice because they figured he had let me go on purpose since I was his daughter, which he didn't."

"What drove you to thievery anyway?" I asked curiously. Since I had stumbled ass-backwards into organised crime, I was sort of curious how normal criminals came to the trade.

"Well, see, the pureblood family I lifted the heirlooms from was my stepmother's," she explained. "Although they just got divorced, so I suppose she isn't my stepmother anymore. How did you get started?"

"I got hired to destroy a cheating bastard," I replied. "And then to protect Dom from a Quidditch racket, which ended in me threatening Daniel Ellison's livelihood and somewhere along the way we ended up in drug trafficking, and growing, and real estate. Much less colourful than nicking things from my stepmother."

"How did you end up in drug trafficking?" she asked, looking curious.

"Well, we were living in this hellhole in Knockturn Alley-"

"You _lived_ in Knockturn Alley?" she asked. "Willingly?"

"For about eight months," I agreed. She looked impressed.

"Wow, and you weren't murdered?" she asked.

"Not once," I replied. She laughed again.

I actually didn't make the connection between the two of you until you reappeared in my club the following week. Especially when you invited yourself into the executive lounge and sat at my table and asked if there was any truth to the claim that Rachel McFarlane had been seen frequenting my establishment. Thankfully, I was the only one who knew Rachel's last name, so everyone else was able to say with certainty that no such person had shown up.

"So your father," I asked Rachel the same night you turned up. "Is he a wiry fellow with grey hair and an indecipherable Scottish accent?"

"That's the one," she agreed.

"Care to explain what the fuck he was doing in my club looking for you?" I asked.

"You're so sexy when you get angry," she replied, undoing my trousers.

"Rachel, why was he in my club?" I demanded, grabbing her wrists and preventing her from distracting me any further.

"I dunno," she said, pouting at me. "Maybe because he works vice and you run a nightclub that caters to drug deals, black market exchanges, and while you don't partake in prostitution, you don't discourage it either."

"There are no prostitutes in our club," I replied.

She raised her eyebrow. "You mean your waitresses actually just look like that?"

I glared at her. "And he showed up in the club specifically asking about you, not our drug trade."

"Well he's not supposed to be looking for me," she said. "The warrant for my arrest is safely contained in the white collar division and he is safely contained far away from it. Although, if he keeps pushing it, he's probably going to get himself transferred even farther away from white collar than vice."

We glared at each other, blue eyes to grey, until I let go of her wrists and snogged her instead. When I said we dated, I never meant to imply it was a healthy relationship. We were practically Kurt and Courtney, except without the heroin, or the beating each other, or the suicide. Sorry. I lost that metaphor pretty quickly.

Either way, our relationship that first month and a half while Sam deciphered the protective enchantments consisted mostly of us getting into fights and then having kinky sex to make up for it, or maybe because of it.

Of everyone who lived in our manor, Rose was surprisingly the most relaxed about it. Sam didn't like Rachel because Rachel didn't like Sam, which meant that Dom didn't like Rachel, and Will didn't like Rachel. Em tried to stay out of it, but if push came to shove, I knew she was going to side with Will. Dylan was too distracted by trying to fuck with Ioan's head to worry about Rachel. Ioan kept turning up at the manor since he was trying to convince himself and us that he was actually part of our team, and Dylan, in keeping with the idea he thought Ioan was fit, had taken to popping up unexpectedly to try and make Ioan question his own sexuality. Al was too busy studying and mooning over Clive Ahearn to worry what I was doing.

"I wouldn't exactly say I like her," Rose told me one afternoon towards Halloween. We were sitting in the kitchen sharing a pint of chocolate ice cream. "But I wouldn't say she was a soulless trollop either."

"Really?" I asked. "Because I think I might consider it."

Rose laughed softly. "And the fact she practically lives here now means I lose out on the fun of confusing your one-night-stands."

"What had you been doing to them?" I asked, frowning at her suspiciously.

She shrugged with a twinkle in her chocolate eyes. "Oh, you know," she said. "Playing the angry girlfriend, or the irate sister with questionable implications towards the nature of our relationship, although my favourite was to pretend to be the slutty maid and giggle at them as they made their way to the Floo before I'd say something like, 'didn't you just love that thing he does with his tongue?' and then they'd stare at me all confused and never be seen again."

I stared at her. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Since we moved in," she said. I gave her a put out look and vowed to return the favour to the next guy she brought home.

It wasn't until the end of October when Sam finally finished with the encryptions.

"Okay, so we know the layout of the office and the house," Rachel said, snapping easily into business mode. "We know he's got an extensive security detail who knows what four of us look like."

"And a daughter who's shagged Scor," Dylan added.

"Sorry?" Rachel asked, looking mildly jealous.

"A year ago," I replied. "So how are we going to avoid security?"

"I've actually been working on that," Sam said.

"You have?" the rest of us asked.

"When?" Rachel asked.

"Sometimes the best way to work out a problem is to let it alone for a moment and work on something else," Sam replied with a shrug. "Rose, you can draw right?"

Rose, very uncharacteristically, looked embarrassed. "A little," she admitted. "Why?"

"Could you draw a floor plan of the Cartwright house?" Sam asked.

Rose nodded slowly and then Sam shooed her off to do so.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, trying to work out just what Sam was angling for.

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," he promised.

The majority of us understood immediately what he was talking about, but Rachel and Ioan looked beyond confused.

"Are any of us, really?" Rachel asked.

We ignored her rather than explain.

When Rose returned with a highly detailed and surprisingly well-drawn floor plan of Cartwright's house, Sam snatched it and pointed his wand at it. He spent a good five minutes muttering incantations under his breath, and when he finished, the lines of Rose's drawing faded from the map.

"What happened?" Ioan asked.

In response, the seven of us pointed our wands at the piece of paper and said in unison, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The lines of the map spread from each of our wand points, and eventually it completed with a small spark of light. Maybe because it was the first time it had been activated, the footsteps of the house's occupants slowly flickered into existence. Across the top, it read _MadCap Industries presents The Marauder's Map: Cartwright House_.

"What's the Marauder's Map?" Rachel asked.

The original was locked in my safe in one of the manor's offices. In the seventies, there were four Hogwarts students, one of whom was a werewolf, and together the four of them made a map of the castle that was enchanted to show the locations of each occupant. I had come into possession of it in my fifth year and we had used it to perpetrate a prank war on the Slytherins quite effectively.

Al explained all this to Rachel and Ioan (who looked extremely jealous) and then as one, the seven of us pointed our wands back at the new map.

"Mischief managed," we chorused, and it went blank.

"Let's go then," I suggested, definitely excited by the idea of stealing. It was new territory at the time, and it sounded fun, especially the way Rachel told it.

It had been decided that our infiltration force was going to consist of me, Sam, Rachel, Em, and Ioan because he insisted.

Now it's important to remember that the Seraphim Sapphire was cursed. Anyone who stole the Sapphire was going to end up dead in a year. The only way to circumvent this curse was to either find it by accident, or have the current owner give it to you willingly. The curse didn't mention anything about forcing someone to give it to you willingly, so that's what we were aiming for. We were actually counting on Peter Cartwright's philanthropist nature, so that when we forced him at wandpoint to hand us the Sapphire, we could be sure he would do it since he wouldn't even want a thief to die at the hands of a curse.

The five of us apparated to the edge of Cartwright's property and pulled out our map. The security people weren't patrolling our edge of the garden – which was every bit as lovely as I had suggested to Rose during the party – and so we crept through it, taking care not to be spotted from the windows. It was the dead of night, naturally, so we were dressed in all black so as to better blend in. We snuck to the garden door, where Em undid the lock and Rachel disabled the security alarm. We crept out into the hallway.

Cartwright was asleep in bed next to his wife, and I noticed with a tiny pang of guilt that Isobel was in her room just down the hall from his. I shoved it aside and we avoided security to the office. It was almost too easy, but apparently in real life when things seem to easy, it's not because it's a trap. Cartwright just honestly thought no one either knew he had it or could break through his enchantments. Possessing the Sapphire had given him a false sense of security.

Sam set to work immediately on cracking the safe, looking quite enthused about the whole thing. I know there's some saying that girls tend to fall for guys who remind them of their fathers – Merlin alone knows what that says about Rose or Rachel, or more accurately, you and Ron Weasley – but I took that moment to remember that Bill and Fleur Weasley worked as curse-breakers for Gringotts, otherwise known as the respectable and legal version of what we were doing. It's only relevant because Bill and Fleur Weasley happen to be Dom's parents, and Sam, Dom's boyfriend, was there cracking a safe.

At least, I thought it was kind of funny.

It took Sam half an hour of very complicated Charms work – and please remember I got an O on my Charms NEWT – that I couldn't even begin to comprehend before he got the safe open.

And there it was. It sparkled with blue fire and seemed to pulse with light. Someone along the way had set it into a bronze and diamond wire casing that made it look like a Faberge Egg, if any of the Faberge Eggs had been made out of a solid sapphire.

All five of us were instantly transfixed by the jewel in front of us. We were even breathing in time with the pulses of light radiating off it.

"No one touch it," Rachel instructed, her normally abrasive voice tempered by the sheer awe of the Sapphire. "Let's go get Cartwright."

She and Em faded out of the room to go wake him up, leaving the three of us boys staring at the unfathomable wealth facing us.

"Do you suppose it's heavy?" Sam whispered.

"Probably," I replied.

Blue light from the Sapphire was dancing in Ioan's normally mossy eyes. I probably should've started worrying then, but I didn't.

After a few minutes, I heard footsteps coming down the hall and knew them to be Rachel and Em and Cartwright. I knew Sam had heard the footsteps as well, because he turned to stare at the door expectantly. Ioan, on the other hand, was utterly transfixed by the Sapphire.

The door opened, and I turned to make sure it was our accomplices. It was, and Cartwright looked horrified while he kept his hands folded on top of his sleep-ruffled hair. He was wearing a matching pyjama set, pinstriped in blue, and a flannel dressing gown, and looked utterly harmless. To my confusion, his horror was mirrored by Em and Rachel, who had their wands pressed to either side of his throat.

I followed their horrified gaze to see Ioan holding the Sapphire.

"I guess you don't need me then, do you," Cartwright said, looking like he deeply regretted Ioan's fate.

"Are you a bloody idiot?" Rachel snarled at Ioan.

Ioan was too bewitched by the Sapphire to understand what he had just done.

Sam jumped to action and disabled Cartwright's anti-apparition wards with a shout. Em and Sam disapparated immediately, but Rachel waited long enough to grab Ioan and drag him along with her. He was too befuddled to do it successfully himself.

Of course, this meant I was now standing alone in Cartwright's recently robbed office, undeniably guilty.

"It's Malfoy, right?" Cartwright asked. I realised that the only reason he hadn't attacked me yet was because he didn't have his wand.

"Scorpius?" Isobel demanded, appearing in the doorway next to her father, apparently awakened by Sam's shout.

Because I'm an asshole, I couldn't resist making that stupid Muggle hand gesture that means "Call me" at her, which I followed by blown kiss, and then I disapparated.

Back at the mansion, Ioan had snapped out of it and realised what he had done.

"Holy shit," he said, dropping the Sapphire on the dining room table, where it lay like a dead body. "Holy shit. Oh, Merlin, fuck-"

"Steady on," Will recommended, giving him a sketchy look. "I take it you guys succeeded?"

In response, Rachel smacked Ioan upside the head. "What sort of suicidal idiot are you? Weren't you in fucking Ravenclaw?"

"What happened?" Rose asked. She seemed to want to stare at Ioan in confusion and concern, but she couldn't drag her gaze away from the Sapphire.

"Ioan stole it," Em explained, smacking him upside the head as well. I figured it had to be a Slytherin thing.

"Are you a bloody idiot?" Dylan demanded, staring at Ioan with a slack jaw.

"That's what I asked," Rachel replied. "He still hasn't answered."

"I don't know what happened," Ioan replied, sinking into a chair and continuing to stare at the Sapphire with horror in his eyes. "I didn't mean to, it just…"

Away from the tension of Cartwright's office, it was possible to hear the beautiful, enchanting music that clung to the very edge of hearing and pierced the heart like a shard of glass.

"Can you all hear that?" I muttered.

Slowly, everyone else nodded. The music definitely made you want to pick up the Sapphire and claim it as your own and never let it go.

"We'll have to figure out a way to break the curse," Al said finally. "We can't just let Ioan die."

"Really?" Rose, Ioan, Rachel, and I asked in perfect unison, with the same amount of disbelief in our voices.

"Of course not," Em scolded, giving the four of us a bad look. "Come on, it'll be like revising for exams."

"Just with higher stakes?" Dylan quipped.

OOooOOooOOooOO

Ioan was practically inconsolable. Out of pity, we let him take up residence in one of our ubiquitous spare rooms – there are fourteen rooms in our mansion, and that's just bedrooms – and left him there to wallow. But the residual effects of having the Sapphire in our house were immediately noticeable. Our returns from our renters and our club and our drugs doubled, and influential people started queuing up to make deals with us. Over the course of the next month, we suddenly found ourselves becoming embroiled in the international imports business, which was also when we approximately took over complete charge of the British black market. We found it necessary to acquire innocuous shipping docks in the Muggle world in both Portsmouth and Liverpool so we could ferry American and continental merchandise that the Ministry wouldn't necessarily (or at all) approve of.

Our new business contacts had a shared way of signing contracts which I discovered pretty quickly. They seemed completely shocked we hadn't heard anything about it. I was unanimously volunteered by everyone else to actually sign the contracts.

"Well, come on," Rose reasoned. "I'm technically our CEO. I have to pretend to be legitimate to Ministry inquisitors; I can't exactly go around looking like I've joined some Muggle gang."

"If my parents found out, they'd kill me," Al explained.

"Yes, because they wouldn't if they found out what you do for a living," I replied grumpily. "Fine, but I'm picking our insignia."

They let me have that one, which is why there's a very large Russian bloke called Ivan in your holding cells freaking his fellow inmates out by having a tattoo of a pygmy puff.

"And do you even realise what it is my family has against tattoos?" I demanded while Rose and I walked into our first major business negotiations with a Chinese potions ingredient dealer. Rose looked mildly abashed but pointed out that that had to be why the practice hadn't caught on in the UK.

Our Chinese contact was quite happy to slap half a yin-yang symbol on my forearm – I insisted it be the right rather than the left – but looked more than a little confused at the pink pygmy puff he ended up with.

"We're called MadCap for a reason," I explained as we shook on the deal and increased our business operations exponentially.

By the time we were two months out from Ioan stealing the Sapphire, we had twelve new international business contracts, which meant to my chagrin, I was a walking poster board for mob and mafia insignias. My condition – besides ours being a pygmy puff – was that I had to be able to hide them all.

"What's this one?" Rachel asked, tracing the dragon on my shoulder.

"Our clairvoyance-enhancing supplements dealer from Romania," I replied.

"I suppose you could be importing cocaine from Colombia or something," she said with a shrug.

"Unrefined Peruvian instant darkness powder," I replied, lifting my arm and revealing the black boa constrictor on my side. "It's cheaper to get the unrefined stuff and it actually works better, but it has a nasty habit of exploding."

Rachel giggled. "I think they're sexy."

"You're just saying that because they make me look more dangerous," I replied.

"And I find danger sexy," she said.

I rolled my eyes.

Dylan discovered that the curse on the Sapphire could be avoided if you murdered the previous owner before taking it, but we'd already fucked that one. Also, if someone stole the Sapphire from you, you would be released from the one year contract on your life. But we didn't really want to lose the Sapphire. We decided that if it came to it, we could have one of us steal it from Ioan as the year was finishing if it looked like he might be about to die, but that would be a last resort. After all, none of us actually liked Ioan enough to endanger our own lives on his behalf.

Sam and Will and Em spent most of their time studying the Sapphire to try and figure out when it had been cursed and how to break that curse.

Then December rolled around and we were faced with the idea of Christmas.

"I say we invite all the parents here and make them as uncomfortable as humanly possible," Rose suggested. She was sitting in the kitchen while I made breakfast for the three people awake and was wearing her standard sleeping uniform of a skin tight vest that made her look spectacular and very short shorts that left all of her legs free for viewing.

"You like making people uncomfortable, don't you?" Rachel asked. Rachel was wearing one of my Quidditch shirts from school and she was short enough that it covered everything, which meant no one else needed to know she wasn't wearing knickers. It was a very distracting thought weighing on my head while I scrambled eggs.

"Yes," Rose agreed.

"Which part of the Auror department does your father work for?" Rachel asked.

"Homicide," Rose replied. "And Uncle Harry doesn't really notice any specific warrants, so you should be safe."

And then it was decided that we'd throw a very formal Christmas party.

It was the first time Em's parents and Will's had met, and they got along awkwardly. The greeting pleasantries were interrupted by Ron Weasley trying to jinx my father on sight, but he backed down when Hermione stepped on his foot and pointed out that Rose and I weren't dating as my girlfriend was standing right there looking painfully edible in a slinky green satin dress. Weirdly enough, Rachel got along quite well – as you know, almost better than I do, she doesn't get along with people very well – with my parents and Em's parents. They spent most of dinner laughing together at the end of the table and drinking.

Once Ron got drunk, he apparently decided that it was insulting I wasn't dating Rose and started glowering at me from afar. Naturally, he's since changed his assessment and violently loathes the fact we're together, but at the time he was miffed.

Harry and Ginny Potter spent much of the evening making awkward small talk with Mr and Mrs Abramson since it quickly became apparent that all four parents had been very fond of their children as a couple and were still sad about the fact they'd broken up two years prior.

Sam's parents got on famously with Dom's and before the evening was out, they'd started planning Sam and Dom's wedding. We figured they were probably joking, but at the same time they sort of weren't.

Now, see McFarlane, if you hadn't been insistent on arresting your own daughter, we might have invited you as well, but sadly, that wasn't the case.

After dinner was over, Al confused the shit out of his parents by addressing my father familiarly and then the two of them started talking about the medical profession, which regrettably opened the floor for Ron to ask Rose about her business where we all worked. He eventually turned his evil glare on me and demanded to know exactly what I did for MadCap Industries.

"I manage our real estate investments," I replied. I forgot until that moment that I had done away with my suit jacket and rolled up my shirtsleeves because of a combination of the fireplace and the wine I'd been drinking. "I also am the proprietor of our nightclub, the Mad Hatter."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you guys have a drugs bust earlier this year?"

"Where they found absolutely nothing," I replied. "Who was on that case? McFarlane, wasn't it? You should consider having him transferred. He's losing his touch and I dread to think what would happen if a man of his age tried to run down a drug runner."

Yes, we've established that I'm an asshole, you don't have to splash your hot coffee on me.

Rachel snorted next to me but managed to hide her smile.

"What's that on your arm?" Ron asked, his regrettably observant eyes turning towards my contract with our Chinese suppliers.

"I spilled ink earlier," I replied, rolling my sleeve down. "Sorry, I thought I'd got it off."

Ron was definitely still suspicious but was distracted when he got dragged into conversation with Bill Weasley about the banking industry.

When we finally got everyone out of the house, it was established that it had been sort of funny to see all our law abiding parents hang around with their criminal children whilst having no idea their children were, in fact, criminals. Although, that wasn't strictly true, since my uncle Blaise knew we were at least associated with Ellison. He also knew that MadCap Industries was the biggest investor in his publishing firm, which meant that by that point, we technically did own the press.

After Christmas, we had to turn our attention back to saving Ioan's life.

"What are you going to do once we've cracked it?" I asked Rachel at some point in February. I think it might have been Valentine's Day.

"I dunno," she said. "I was thinking maybe I'd run off to the Riviera and never be heard from again."

"Right," I replied. "Taking the Sapphire with you, naturally."

"Naturally," she agreed. I laughed, and she laughed as well before she handcuffed me to the bedframe.

By May, Ioan was constantly in a state of blind panic, not that he was doing much to help us break the curse. Al was almost done with his studies and was preparing to sit his final exams in June. And Rachel had taken to vomiting whenever someone mentioned undercooked foods.

"Are you okay?" I asked when she bolted out of bed one morning and ran naked to the bathroom to throw up.

"I think I've got the stomach flu," she replied, brushing her teeth and lying back in bed, sounding miserable.

"If you put on clothes, I can send Al in to give you a check-up," I offered. "Better than him constantly hounding the lot of us for injuries or him popping up at odd moments when I've got my clothes off to see if any of my tattoos are infected."

Rachel nodded in agreement and I got out of bed, pulling on some semblance of clothes. I tossed her a dressing gown that was probably mine and she pulled it on.

"Since Al's gay, why do I have to put on clothes?" she asked.

"Because I'm the only one who gets to see you naked," I replied dismissively before I wandered off to find Al.

He proclaimed that she did not have the stomach flu and that it must have been something she ate, but kept giving me sketchy looks for the rest of the month.

And then in June, we cracked it.

"I've got it!" Sam exclaimed, pointing his wand at the Sapphire.

The rest of us crowded around – Ioan with a pale sheen of sweat on his forehead – while Sam and Will combined focused their magic on the Sapphire. It shuddered violently and suddenly a blast of blue-tinted air exploded from it and bathed all of us. As one, we glanced at Ioan.

His face brightened and then an elated smile spread across his face. "I'm not going to die!" he exclaimed.

"Well, fortunately, you are, but it won't be because of the Seraphim Sapphire," Rose replied. Ioan paled again. Rose rolled her eyes. "We're not going to kill you either."

Ioan relaxed immediately.

"But you are to pack and get out of our house at your earliest convenience," I informed him. "I'm going to go put this away."

I took the Sapphire and locked it away in our very well guarded safe.

Ioan was gone by that evening, and life looked like it might quickly return to normal, unlike the past nine months we'd spent in pursuit of the secrets of the Sapphire.

As I've said before, Fate hates me and wishes me nothing but ill.

It was that very night that I caught Rachel sneaking out of the manor. It almost turned into a proper duel because it took me about three seconds to work out that she was actually taking the Sapphire.

"Sorry, love," she said, backing towards the door. "It's just too good to resist."

"You'd still get its benefits here," I pointed out, my wand still aimed at her.

"For how long until my father actually finds me?" she asked, opening the door and walking out of it. I followed her. She didn't take her eyes off my wand. "And then I'm not going to have any benefits when I'm rotting in prison."

"It's touching that you'd like me to stay," she replied. "But I'm too selfish for that."

"You do realise I can't just let you leave," I said, thinking up the best spell to send her way.

"What are you going to do? Hex me?" she asked, reaching the front gate and the edge of the anti-apparition ward.

"For a start," I replied. I shrugged. "Maybe let Ellison deal with you."

She waved the Sapphire. "This will let me pay Ellison back before he can bother trying to kill me," she said. "And you're not going to hex me."

She sounded so utterly confident about it that I had to wonder.

"And why's that?" I asked.

She gave me her trademark evil smirk. "Because I'm pregnant," she said. And then she took the last step outside the anti-apparition ward and disappeared.

* * *

McFarlane's jaw was near his navel. My skin still burned from where he'd thrown his coffee at me.

"You got my daughter pregnant?" he asked, his Scottish accent even more heavily pronounced due to shock and stress.

"Yeah," I agreed. I think the quietness in my voice confused him more than anything else.

"You and I – I have a grandchild? Who's also _your_ child? We share a biological descendent?" McFarlane demanded.

I closed my eyes and fought back the memory of the last time I had seen Rachel. I didn't need it yet, and there was no need to subject myself to that before it was strictly necessary.

"No," I said quietly. "We don't."

McFarlane's confusion was thick enough that it probably would've made a decent spread on toast.

"What?" he asked. "But that was three years ago."

I grimaced at him. "I'm not done with Peter Cartwright yet."

**Review!**

**Also, thank you KeishaM, Tom, Prunella7, Twisky, Sarnia Nereid for reviewing. Also, Blood and Dark Chocolate who asked (probably facetiously) how much more twisted this story can get: Very. Very twisted. Because I am a bad person and I don't think I've ever written something longer than 20,000 words that didn't have something seriously fucked up in it. Therefore, I present the character of Rachel and everything that happens to her. Sorry. **


	12. Relapses Never Lead to Anything Bad

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this up. I had Al's bad night that appears later in this chapter without the added benefit of naked professional athletes, so I was a bit slow to the start today. Thanks to everyone who reviewed like Tom, Sarnia Nereid, H8 2 Break It 2 U, Guest (and also, no. on all accounts. Much worse than that), district 9 3-4, FairyLightsAndGlitter, Charlottempb, MaebeSara, hugo-automaton, Blood and Dark Chocolate, Fionamoi, and sooooooooooooo (sorry, I didn't count the os). You guys are all awesome. **

Chapter Eleven - Relapses Never Lead to Anything Bad

"She took the Sapphire didn't she?" Dylan demanded when I had to explain to everyone what had happened.

"Where did she go?" Will asked, looking ready to take off after her and reclaim it.

"I dunno, the Riviera?" I suggested, hitting my head on the table. However much crap I had given Will for panicking at the idea of Em being pregnant, I now understood exactly why he had panicked. After all, I was still two months shy of twenty and was very much not okay with being a father. No, McFarlane, waiting until you're thirty-three to have a child does not win you bonus points.

"Why didn't you jinx her and take it back?" Em asked, looking like she couldn't believe I had done something so stupid.

"You didn't fall in love with her did you?" Rose demanded.

"I dunno," I said, turning to glare at Al. "Why didn't I jinx her, Al?"

He cringed and turned red. "To be fair, she threatened to kill me. If you had threatened to kill me, I would've laughed in your face, but I kind of believed it coming from her."

"What are you on about?" Sam asked, looking deeply confused.

"Rachel's pregnant," Al replied, now sounding apologetic.

I let my head hit the table again and folded my hands behind my neck.

"You got her pregnant?" Rose asked, sounding very deadly.

"I didn't do it on purpose," I replied.

"Hah!" Will exclaimed. "I wasn't the first one to fuck up!"

Dylan hit him in the arm.

I spent the next three months trying to find Rachel. I had absolutely no luck whatsoever. At the same time, I believe you got transferred off to organised crime, and Ron Weasley developed an unhealthy obsession with the tattoo he'd seen over Christmas.

In September, a year after we had first met, Rachel mailed me a picture of herself in a very nondescript hotel room wearing the Sapphire as a lengthy pendant that just barely brushed the top of the beginnings of a baby bump. There was nothing else in the envelope, and on the back of the picture was a single lipstick print.

"I think she's taunting you," Al informed me.

"You think?" I asked. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

Al shrugged but realised I was being belligerent and sarcastic. He had recently taken up his studies again after a summer off, and we were out celebrating in the club. We were sitting in the main room for a change of pace, and it was with great surprise that we saw Lily Potter and Hugo Weasley wander in, order drinks and sit down.

"Your sister is here," I informed him.

Al almost dropped his Butterbeer in surprise. He followed my gaze to the youngest members of the Potter-Weasley clan and proceeded to stare at them in shock. Neither noticed us, but inexplicably, they stopped Dylan when he wandered by and invited him to sit down with them.

So, in case it wasn't clear earlier, Dylan's main character flaw is that he suffers from being shallow when it comes to sex. I mean, everyone does to an extent, but Dylan had a particularly bad case of that. It didn't help that Hugo Weasley is, well, he's Rose's brother and shares her genetic makeup and is kind of attractive.

While Al and I watched Lily and Hugo and Dylan share drinks, we were treated to the rather unwelcome sight of Hugo subtly putting his hand on Dylan's knee and then letting it creep higher over the course of the night.

"I'm going to be sick," Al announced, tearing his gaze away from the three of them and eyeing my martini with jealous eyes.

"Be sick all you want, just don't relapse," I replied.

Al grumbled at me and started picking at a spot on the table that I made a mental note to have re-varnished. We sat there in awkward silence for a while until suddenly one of the other chairs was pulled out and a disgustingly handsome, strapping Quidditch player sat down across from me and next to Al.

"You boys don't mind if I join you, do you?" Clive Ahearn asked with a winning smile at the two of us. "You looked a little morose and I thought you could use some fun company."

"I suppose you'd be the fun company?" I asked, raising my eyebrow at him.

"That was the idea, yeah," he agreed, giving me a sketchy look and addressing himself at Al instead. "You're studying to be a Healer, right?"

The fact that Clive Ahearn actually paid enough attention to him to notice that Al was in medical school would have been enough to make Al's night on its own. But that wasn't where it stopped. Suddenly, Al was showing off his intellect and Clive was acting attentive, and I was working towards a steady drunk. I was almost to the point of stupid drunk when Lily Potter ran over to our table, giggled to herself, sat in my lap and then snogged me.

"You're drunk," I informed her when she let me breathe.

"I just snogged number nine," she replied, dropping a copy of _Witch Weekly_ on the table. She kissed me again with a little too much tongue and then flitted off to her table.

"What?" I asked finally, unable to comprehend what had just happened or why she'd addressed me as a number.

Clive nodded at the magazine on the table. A brief flip through it revealed that it was the issue with the 30 most eligible bachelors under 30 article. I was number nine that year. Unsurprisingly, the list had been edited by Elsie McFadden, so I figured my spot on the list was at least partially due to the fact she knew exactly how good I was in bed.

Clive was on the list as well, number fifteen. I kept flipping, and then discovered that Al was number 28.

"Hey, you're in here too!" I exclaimed, pointing at his picture. Al looked deeply disturbed by this, and even more so by the blurb that read:

_The youngest son of the Chosen One, Al Potter is currently in training to be a Healer at St Mungo's and spends much of his time at the Mad Hatter nightclub in Diagon Alley. He will be twenty-one in November and, sorry ladies, but this one's for the boys. _

"Why?" he asked as though I might actually have answers for him.

"I dunno, do I?" I asked.

Clive Ahearn seemed to find the whole thing funny.

"Well, I think I'm going to go home and go to sleep," I announced, returning the magazine to the table and heading for the door. I got home and collapsed into my empty bed and realised I actually missed Rachel. I don't think we were ever in love, but we did date for nine months and she had been good company when she wasn't being an unnecessary bitch to my friends. Or me for that matter.

When I woke up in the morning, it was because Rose was sitting on my bed painting her nails and the toxic smell of her nail polish had invaded my nostrils.

"Why are you in my room?" I asked groggily.

"Did you go out with Al last night?" she asked without looking at me.

"We just went to the club and I left him there with Clive Ahearn," I replied.

She nodded slowly and kept painting her fingernails a deep shade of plum. "Did you let Al drink anything?"

"Al is a competent adult," I replied. She raised her eyebrow but kept staring at her hands. "Of course I didn't let him drink anything and Daly knows not to serve him anything alcoholic."

"Then perhaps I should ask Clive Ahearn why Al is throwing up in my bathroom," Rose said, screwing the top back onto her nail polish bottle.

"Why is he throwing up in _your _bathroom?" I asked.

"I asked him that," Rose said, waving her wand over each of her fingers to set the paint. "In between heaves, he replied that it was because he didn't want to wake up Clive, who is apparently unconscious in Al's room."

"What?" I asked, sitting up and noticing that it had to still be early since Rose was wearing one of her tiny night dresses.

"Now, I know you weren't friends with him in fourth year, but it's a proven fact that Al is utterly incapable of wooing someone while sober," Rose replied. "Because Sober Al likes to talk only to people he knows, like us, and not romance strangers. So based on the circumstantial evidence, Al was drunk last night."

I cringed. "You say he's in your bathroom?"

"He is," Rose agreed. "Did something happen at the club that would've prompted this?"

I groaned and hit my head on my headboard. "Your brother's hand getting overly-friendly with Dylan's leg."

Rose broke her zenlike calm and gave me a mildly disgusted look. "Hugo was hitting on Dylan?"

"Yeah," I agreed, throwing back the covers and grabbing my dressing gown.

"And Dylan let him?" Rose asked. I nodded. "Ew."

Rose's room was on the first floor, as was Al's, which is why he'd gone for her toilet instead of, say, mine. I had never been in Rose's room before.

I wasn't surprised by the black sheets on her bed, or the scarlet bedspread. The fact her bed was a giant wrought iron four-post bed wasn't weird, nor was the fact all her furniture was black except for the armchair she had next to her fireplace, which was, of course, red. No, the surprising thing about Rose's room was that on the end tables next to her bed and on her dresser and several shelves of her armoire there were pictures of all of us. One was of the lot of us in sixth year just after the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game. One was the opening of the Mad Hatter while we all wore formal attire and pretended to be professional. Hidden in the back was the picture Dylan had taken before we went off to the party at Cartwright's house. I didn't get a chance to look at the rest of them because Rose showed up and ushered me towards her bathroom.

"You're a sentimental fool, aren't you?" I accused, trying not to laugh when she rolled her eyes and ignored me.

Al was curled up on the floor in his dressing gown, holding his head and groaning softly.

"Oi," I said, kicking him lightly in the foot.

"No," he groaned, drawing his knees closer to his chest.

"What happened?" Rose asked, filling a glass with water and setting it on the tile floor next to Al's head. He picked it up with shaky fingers and drank a few sips before he managed to push himself slowly into a sitting position. This appeared to take great effort, because he immediately pressed his back against the wall to keep from falling over again and then let his head fall onto his knees.

"He asked if I wanted to taste his drink," Al mumbled sounding like he absolutely hated himself. "And it looked like it was either Butterbeer or a Muggle soda. And it was not."

"One sip shouldn't have been enough to do this to you, though," Rose pointed out.

"It wasn't," Al replied. "Because it tasted great, and so he offered to get me one and Hugo had his hands all over Dylan and I said yes."

Rose and I exchanged concerned looks before we sat down on either side of him.

"And then I got to the point of buzzed where I thought to myself, 'I could be way more drunk right now. Why am I not way more drunk?' and then I got way more drunk," Al continued.

"Daly's under strict orders not to serve you," I said.

"Yeah, well, most of the sketchy Muggle bars in central London aren't," he replied. "And just as a general thing – if something smells bad enough that you have to hold your breath in order to drink it, that means you should not drink it."

Rose put one hand on Al's arm, but he shrugged her off.

"And then I woke up in my own bed somehow at like, three in the morning, and I was still drunk enough I couldn't feel any of my limbs, and I was completely starkers and Clive Ahearn was in my bed," Al continued. "And I think I'm going to be sick again."

He was, and Rose and I left him to it.

"Can I slap Clive Ahearn?" Rose asked with a pretty smile on her face.

"Frankly, Medusa, I think the sight of you might turn him to stone," I said, lifting one of her frizzy corkscrew curls away from her head. "And you get to slap Clive Ahearn if I get to slap your brother."

"I can live with that," Rose agreed. "Go check on Al before I turn you to stone, Scylla."

I frowned. "Why am I Scylla?"

"Because your chest is covered in sea monsters," she replied before she flounced out of the room. I glanced down to remind myself that my chest actually was covered in sea monsters, especially a version of the Loch Ness Monster which tends to hide just below the waistband of whatever trousers I'm wearing and makes for a very entertaining pick-up line, but anyway.

Al was done throwing up, but looked completely miserable.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked.

Al grimaced at me. "A drink," he suggested in a tone that said he hated himself, hated everything about himself, and was also quite serious.

"No," I said. "You were almost three years sober, and you're going to get through this. But I might kill Hugo on your behalf."

"Please do," Al replied, curling back up into a ball on the floor.

I left him there and did a quick check through of Rose's room to see if there was any liquor – there wasn't – and then made my way down to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. I was waiting for it to finish when there was a whooshing noise from the Floo. Out of curiosity, I headed into the entryway to see Dylan stepping out of the fireplace looking sketchy.

"Where have you been?" I asked, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrow at him.

"Out," Dylan replied, looking guilty now.

"Out where?" I asked. "Out shagging Hugo Weasley and driving Al to drink?"

"Yep, wait, what?" Dylan asked, processing the second half of my accusation. "Al drank?"

"Enough that he's currently being sick in Rose's toilet," I replied. Dylan looked wildly guilty. "It was just a one night thing with Hugo, right?"

"Erm…well, we're supposed to have dinner tomorrow…" Dylan mumbled, looking like he might be a bad person. I was inclined to agree.

"Really?" I asked in a disappointed tone.

Dylan scuffed his foot on the floor looking ashamed of himself.

Before either of us could say anything else, Rose and Clive Ahearn appeared on the stairs and Rose seemed to be reading him the riot act.

"Three years sober," Rose was saying in a shrill banshee voice. "And now because you're too much of a cock up to properly get to know someone before climbing into bed with emotionally addled boys six years younger than you, he's gone and fallen off the wagon and it's your fault you shameless git."

"Merlin, call your attack dog off, would you?" Clive asked, edging between me and Dylan.

"Technically, it's attack bitch," Rose replied. "I'll be having a word with our bouncer about your influence on impressionable decent human beings whose only crimes include finding your lopsided biceps attractive."

"Lopsided?" Clive asked.

"Stick to beating your own Bludgers, not someone else's," Rose suggested, forcing him into the fireplace with a flick of her wand. He spun off without a moment's hesitation.

Dylan and I blinked at her.

"What?" she asked, fluffing her hair over her shoulder. "Blondie, is the coffee ready yet?"

And then she wandered into the kitchen like nothing had happened.

"Remind me to never piss her off," Dylan muttered.

"She doesn't know you fucked her brother yet," I pointed out with a malicious grin.

"You wouldn't," Dylan replied, looking terrified.

"Hey Rosie," I called, falling sideways into the kitchen.

"Scorpius," Dylan protested.

"Could you grab the cream out of the fridge?" I asked, giving Rose my brightest smile.

Dylan sank onto one of the barstools in relief when Rose handed me the cream and a mug of coffee. She slid a cup to Dylan as well and handed him the sugar.

"So what's this about shagging my brother?"

* * *

"You're out of coffee too, aren't you?" McFarlane asked. He grabbed my mug before I could answer.

"If you're going to try and find Rachel it isn't going to work," I called after him. He ignored me and closed the door.

The moment he was gone, the horrible memories of Rachel sobbing in our den ran into my head and wouldn't go away. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes as hard as I could to try and block out the images, but soft hands took my wrists and pulled my hands away from my face. Rose ran her fingers through my hair and pulled me forward so my face was buried against her chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked, continuing to run her hands through my hair in a comforting way. I wrapped my arms around her and tried to breathe evenly.

"No," I said, my voice muffled by her breasts.

"You could just not tell him that part," she suggested softly.

"He's got a right to know that more than any other part of this story," I pointed out.

"I know," she said. "It was just an idea to spare your sanity."

"I know," I replied. We stayed there like that for the twenty minutes it took McFarlane to get our coffee. When we heard him coming back, Rose pressed her lips to the top of my head and disappeared back into the ceiling.

McFarlane took in my haggard appearance and handed me my coffee. "Are you alright?"

"Spiffing," I replied with an unsettling yes-I've-gone-mad-why smile.

"So, Dylan was dating Hugo Weasley," McFarlane prompted.

I nodded. "And the little fuck kept popping up in our house."

* * *

It started after they'd been dating a week. Hugo spent the night, which meant I was treated to the unpleasant sight of Hugo in just his shorts in my kitchen very early in the morning.

I wake up the earliest of any of my friends or co-workers, so I was used to having the kitchen to myself in order to make coffee and become semi-human in the mornings. Hugo Weasley sort of loathes me, so it was not with joy that we ran into each other.

"What are you doing here?" we asked in unison.

"I fucking live here, twit," I replied.

I'm not always my most eloquent upon first waking.

"You do?" Hugo asked, his face contorting into a disappointed glower.

"My name is on the deed," I added. All seven of us had signed it. I spent enough of my time stealing property from people who had poorly maintained deeds and legal rights that we had taken all sorts of extra precautions to keep our house in our possession.

"Well fuck," Hugo replied.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Visiting my boyfriend," Hugo replied, probably enjoying the put-out look I gave him. Hugo Weasley, as you well know, is a twat.

"Haven't you only been dating a week?" I asked.

"So?" Hugo asked.

"Dating for a week doesn't make him your boyfriend," I replied, turning on the coffee maker and settling against the counter to glare at him.

Hugo shrugged. "Nice ink," he said.

"Thanks," I replied, continuing to glare.

To make the moment slightly less uncomfortable, Dom wandered into the kitchen at that moment halfway into her training uniform. She had managed to mediate the Clive Ahearn deal and had proven her loyalty to our cause – or maybe just to her family – by giving Clive a stern talking to about seducing people in her family. But she'd also managed it with more diplomacy than Rose and made it so Al was not culpable for the verbal beating Rose gave Clive, thereby leaving that open should Al decide he wanted to pursue it.

"Hugo?" she asked, putting a piece of toast in the toaster and sitting on the counter next to me to do up the laces on her Quidditch boots.

"Dom?" he asked, looking as confused by her presence as she was by his.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Dylan," I replied, not breaking my death glare at Hugo's skull.

Dom's eyes widened and she raised her eyebrow at Hugo. "Isn't that a little…dickish?"

"Is that supposed to be a gay joke?" Hugo asked.

Dom rolled her eyes. "Since he's your cousin's ex-boyfriend," Dom elaborated.

"Oh," Hugo replied, looking slightly abashed. "I dunno, didn't they break up three years ago?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Dom said. Her toast popped up and she grabbed it. "Well, I have to go to practice. See you both later."

She headed off to the fireplace and we could hear the whoosh of her disappearance.

"What's Dom doing here?" Hugo asked.

In answer, Sam stumbled into the room, brushed past me to the coffee pot, poured himself a mug, and then shuffled off.

"They've been together for about a year and a half," I said. "It'll be two years in May."

"Oh," Hugo replied. "Since I'm going to be around a lot, is there a way you could maybe not hate me?"

"You're the one who spent five years throwing dinner plates at my head," I reminded him. "Also, as an aside, if you fuck with any of my friends, I can and will get rid of you."

"Is that a death threat?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I replied. I poured myself my coffee and left him alone in the kitchen.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"He asked if you would not hate him?" Rose repeated, sounding sceptical.

"Yeah," I agreed, combing the pygmy puff that had happened across my desk. It kept purring, so I figured it liked it.

"That seems…suspect," Rose replied.

"That's what I thought," I said. "And I figured, we're suspect people, we may as well be suspicious of annoying younger siblings."

"Precisely," Rose agreed.

The only problem was that Hugo didn't do anything suspicious. He just…was there. He liked to rifle through our library, and got on with Sam because of it. Will joined Rose and me in the suspicious club, since he and Hugo hadn't got along at Hogwarts. It had something to do with the fact they had both played Chaser for Ravenclaw and Will was a lot better than Hugo, and Hugo has a tendency to be a jealous fuck. Em insisted on staying out of it, while Al joined us. Dom and Sam were mostly neutral, which meant Dylan was the only one who actually liked him.

"This is going to turn out to be another Rachel moment, isn't it?" Will asked while the four of us met in secret in the dead of night to discuss Hugo's varied skulduggery. This is what happens when career criminals opposed to violence get bored, McFarlane. We sit around in our own homes at night, making up our own conspiracy theories about our friends' boyfriends.

"I doubt quite highly that Dylan's going to get Hugo pregnant," Rose replied.

I glowered and slipped the latest picture from Rachel into the top drawer of my desk. In it, she was lying on a sandy white tropical beach, spread out on a pink towel, her baby bump stretching towards the sky. By Al's count, she was five months pregnant, and I still had no idea where she was.

"I just meant that he's not one of us and he's going to fuck something up and then run off," Will replied. "All because one of us was afflicted in the dick enough to want him."

"At least Rachel was fit," Al added. "Unlike whatever the hell Hugo is."

"Thanks for saying my affliction was justified," I replied. Al shrugged.

"Also, Rachel was one of us," Rose said. "However much she might have…"

"Stolen a priceless artefact and left Scor heartbroken?" Will suggested.

"She didn't leave me heartbroken," I replied.

"Right," Rose said. "But she was still one of us. Hugo isn't."

"So what's his motive?" I asked. "What angle could he be aiming for that would make him want to be here with a load of people who don't like him?"

We were all silent in contemplation for a long time. And then a horrible, creeping realisation spread over us.

"What if…" Al started. He had to pause and swallow uncomfortably. "What if he actually likes him?"

**Review!**


	13. Getting Arrested in a Tuxedo

**A/N: Thanks to Sarnia Nereid, district 9 3-4, MaebeSara, Tom (stay away from heroin, man. No one wants to actually be Kurt and Courtney or Sid and Nancy), hugo-automaton, Blood and Dark Chocolate, Charlottembp, Guest, and Fionamoi for reviewing. I've loved reading all your reactions to Hugo. They made me giggle foolishly to myself while I was in line at the post office. **

Chapter Twelve - Getting Arrested in a Tuxedo Is Approximately the Classiest Thing Ever (Except for Never Getting Arrested)

"You lot are horrible," Em informed us while we lurked in an upstairs window watching Dylan and Hugo stroll through the gardens.

"Hey, baby," Will said, jumping up from the window seat and wrapping his arms around her before she could scold him further.

"We're not that horrible," I said. "Right?"

"No, we are," Rose replied. Of late, she had taken to leaving her hair down and untamed. I loved it, but wasn't about to tell her that. She would always fix it for business meetings, but she would leave it be if we were just going to the club or something.

"Cartwright really hasn't turned us in to the aurors yet?" Em asked, apparently deciding to ignore the fact we were creeping on Hugo and Dylan.

"Not a word," I replied, watching Hugo suspiciously.

Cartwright had never publicly acknowledged having the Sapphire, and he hadn't publicly stated that it had been stolen. He hadn't even tried, which I knew because we would've heard about it through Blaise's news network. No aurors had come knocking down our door to arrest us, so I was starting to develop the impression we were in the clear.

And Hugo just kept lurking. He was always turning up at odd hours, and carried on like they were in a real relationship. At the same time, he had absolutely no idea what any of us did for a living. He thought Will and I were both mad for dropping out of professional Quidditch, even though we explained that now my real estate business and Will's import work were much more lucrative than Quidditch had been. Will and Em were in charge of managing our imports, both the legal and the illegal, while Dylan was in charge of exports. Frank's grow op was doing quite well, especially in our eponymous madcap mushrooms, and Tolkien Grass, and Carroll Flower.

Carroll Flower is actually the only product we have that I've ever tried. I did so on accident in the middle of Herbology during seventh year. We were re-potting them or something and Sam brilliantly decided to poke it with a stick. The sap of the Carroll Flower – more commonly known as Jabberwocky Juice – makes one hallucinate things from Lewis Carroll's Wonderland. I'm pretty sure he got his penname from the plant after doing too much of it during the Victorian Era, but that's drug inclined Ravenclaws for you.

"So Hugo," Rose asked over dinner one night towards Halloween. "What is it you're doing for a job now that you've finished school?"

"I don't really have one," Hugo replied, sounding awkward. "I'm not really sure what I want to do yet, so…"

"Didn't you always want to work with Dad?" Al asked. "You know, as an Auror?"

He shot Dylan a disapproving look while he said it, clearly blaming him for his shoddy taste in men. None of us had any use for law-abiding sycophants, to quote Ellison. We still don't.

Hugo shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "I suppose I considered it, but no, probably not. Rose, what about your company?"

"We've got several branches," Rose replied. "Consulting, which is Sam's department, and real estate that Scor does, and imports and exports that Em and Will and Dylan deal with."

"I thought you worked for the company too, Al," Hugo said.

Al shrugged. "I will when I've finished my medical training," he said.

"As what?" Hugo asked, trying to figure out where Al's medical skill would fit in to our patchwork company.

"Medical consultant?" Al suggested.

Hugo nodded slowly. "So Scorpius, how many tattoos do you have?"

I frowned at him. "Erm…sixteen?" I guessed, trying to remember.

"His favourite is the bloody pygmy puff, though," Rose supplied.

"Why do you know that?" Hugo asked.

"Why do you know I have that?" I asked Rose.

Rose shrugged one shoulder and took a sip of her wine. "It's not my fault you walk naked in front of your window."

I gaped at her, mostly because I did no such thing, and even if I did, she would never look. At least, that's what I thought at the time. I believe the phrase "laughably false" comes into proper employ here.

While everyone burst out laughing and I spluttered indignantly, Hugo turned to me again. "Where is this pygmy puff tattoo?"

"It's none of your business," I said with as much dignity as I could.

No, McFarlane, it's none of your business either. I – no, I do _not_ have a pygmy puff tramp stamp, it's on my shoulder. Rose just really likes making people uncomfortable and in one blow she got both me and her brother with that one.

But Hugo just kept lurking. Obviously, we couldn't conduct any business in the house with him there, so we had to start meeting in our offices above the club. Whatever else we thought he might be (our theories ranged from KGB double agent to hopeless suck-up trying and failing to break into the criminal career to transfigured unicorn who had decided we seemed like nice people) Hugo was an inconvenience.

And so I did what any responsible person looking out for his interests would. I asked the mob.

"Danny," I said, waltzing up to him at the British Museum a week before Christmas. "First things first, I'd like the old building that Borgin and Burkes had."

Ellison glowered at me and went back to surveying the Lewis Chessmen. I joined him in quiet contemplation for a moment and decided Ellison looked weird without a cigar.

"Why do you say it like you'll be getting more than one thing?" Ellison asked.

"Because that's our deal, isn't it?" I asked in a chipper tone. "You try to have me killed and I get one of your holdings. You've tried to kill me twice this month, so I get two things from you."

I shrugged, and a disturbed looking Muggle tourist edged very quickly into the next room.

Ellison grunted. "What else do you want?"

"I want you to check up on someone for me," I said.

"And who would that be?" Ellison asked, pulling out a deed from his briefcase and scribbling something on it. I signed on the dotted line and pocketed the paperwork.

"His name's Hugo Weasley," I said.

Ellison raised his eyebrow at me. "Not one of your Weasleys I take it?"

"Nope," I agreed. "The only Weasleys I have are Rose Weasley, Lucy Weasley, Dominique Weasley, and Albus Potter. And Dom is only sort of tangential, so…"

Ellison nodded. "I'll see what I can find on him. Is he one of the law-abiding sycophants?"

"I think so, but he keeps lurking around my house and I don't trust him," I said. "Frankly, I trust you more, and you try to have me murdered on a regular basis."

Ellison shrugged, and I left, confident that he would find out if Hugo was involved in literally anything anywhere on the planet.

Of course, you know exactly what Hugo was doing, but anyways.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"That's just mean," Al said sympathetically, patting my shoulder and eyeing the crystal decanter of whiskey on my desk.

"Touch it and I'll cut your hands off," I said offhandedly, putting the latest picture of Rachel in my drawer.

"You don't need your hands to drink," Al replied. He groaned. "I'm not going to, I'm just saying."

"How would you drink without your hands?" I asked.

Al gave me a disapproving look. "Clearly, you've never sucked tequila out of someone's bellybutton."

"No, I haven't," I agreed. "Because it's weird."

"No it's not," Al replied, falling into the chair across from my desk.

"Sure," I said. Rose and Will walked into my office at that moment and joined Al in the chairs opposite me. It was nice, it made me feel like a proper mob boss.

"Any news?" I asked.

"Peter Cartwright is the _Daily Prophet's_ Man of the Year," Rose said, showing the headline around for us to groan at.

"I think he meant about Hugo," Al pointed out.

"The only thing I saw was them giggling together in the den being nauseating," Will replied.

"Mum and Dad don't think he has a job either," Rose said. "So apparently he wasn't lying about that."

"That or he was and your parents are in on it," Al replied.

"How twisted are we letting this get?" Will asked.

"I dunno," I said. "I asked Ellison to look into him, so we'll see what that kicks up."

"You did what?"

The four of us turned to face the door, which revealed Dylan standing there with his arms crossed looking pissed beyond reckoning.

"Nothing," I replied.

"No, you wouldn't have Ellison look into anyone lightly," Dylan said.

"I asked him to find Rachel," I lied. I had done no such thing. I had considered it for a very brief moment and then remembered that Ellison wanted Rachel dead for stealing from him, and she was pregnant with my child, so I wanted them to interact about as little as humanly possible.

"Oh," Dylan said, looking abashed. He didn't know about Rachel and Ellison's history, so it was a safe lie. "Any…any word on that?"

"Just a new picture with no return address," I said. "So what are we doing for Christmas? Having all the parents over again?"

Everyone agreed that this sounded like a good plan and we set about organising it.

There's really nothing classier than getting arrested in a tuxedo, is there? Erm, but that's not for a bit. Sorry, got a bit lost.

Anyway, as was our way, we made Christmas formal and as a joke, I got Rose a custom-made ball gown. Actually, it wasn't really a joke, but it did prompt her to turn up in my room half an hour before everyone was meant to show up wearing nothing but a strapless bra, her knickers and stockings held up by a garter belt.

"You do realise that if you buy me a dress that can only be buttoned up, I'm going to make you button it, right?" she asked, setting the box on my bed and opening it.

"Well, fine, but you get to tie my bowtie," I replied while she stepped into the dress. It had a full skirt and was mostly black satin, except for the underskirt which was pale blue and sheer. It went over one shoulder and the strap was encrusted in diamonds, as was the edge of the slit that showed the underskirt. The buttons were black pearls and very challenging to do.

"I'm not even sure I want to know how you got my measurements," she said while I buttoned the dress.

"I've got a great eye," I replied, accidentally brushing my thumb across her shoulder in a rather flirtatious manner.

"Nice to know you're looking," she said softly.

"Hard not to when you wander around in nothing but your knickers," I replied with a shrug.

"And you ruined it," she said, stepping away from me and tying my bowtie much too tightly.

"Sorry," I replied. "You should leave your hair down."

"Not when we're pretending to be formal in order to confuse our parents," she said, spinning around and hitting me in the face with her curls. "I'll see you downstairs."

I managed not to laugh and wandered down to the lounge. Dom and Sam were laughing about something while Dom attempted to make Sam's hair look proper and Al was sulking on one of the sofas.

I sat down next to him and we sat there in silence looking deeply unenthused by life.

Before long, a whoosh of the fireplace announced the arrival of our first guests. To my great chagrin, it was Ron and Hugo and Hermione Weasley. Hermione smiled thinly at me before hugging Al and Dom, while Ron and Hugo just glared daggers in my direction and then lurked off to conspire together.

Will and Em arrived downstairs in time to greet their parents who seemed to get along better that Christmas than they had the pervious holiday. Dylan greeted Ron and Hermione warmly, and they chatted with Hugo happily for a while.

"I liked Al better," Dylan's mother muttered.

"So did we," I muttered back. She hadn't been aware I was in hearing range, and jumped when I spoke. We exchanged pleasantries and then we found ourselves in speculative conversation with Harry and Ginny Potter, Al, and Mr Abramson.

"Bastard stole my boyfriend," Al grumbled, glaring at Hugo from afar.

"To be fair, you did break up three years ago," Ginny said.

"I would totally still fight Dean Thomas for your honour," Harry piped up. "And you broke up…erm…twenty-eight years ago."

"Don't set a bad example for your son," Ginny replied, swatting him in the arm. I snickered.

"But what sort of person goes after their cousin's ex?" Mrs Abramson asked.

"I love that no one's blamed Dylan for this happening," Mr Abramson said.

"That's nice dear," Mrs Abramson replied. "Dylan's…"

"Dylan's too nice to really think about it," Al said.

I managed to keep my comment about Dylan being shallow enough not to care to myself, and then we wandered off to the dining room.

Dinner progressed without incident, except for my parents asking me what had happened to Rachel. I gave them the half-truth that she'd left and we were now broken up, and then decided that since it was getting quite warm, I ought to take off my jacket and loosen my bowtie. Unfortunately, in loosening my bowtie, I revealed the very edge of one of my tattoos. Ron stared at it through angry eyes for a moment.

"So Malfoy," he said.

"What?" my dad and I asked in unison.

"Not you," Ron said, giving my dad the evil eye. Dad frowned at him and turned back to his conversation with Al. "Malfoy the younger."

"Yes, Mr Weasley?" I asked.

"You've got a lot of tattoos," Ron said.

"Yes," I agreed. "They're sort of weirdly addicting."

Ron nodded slowly. "Hugo says you've got sixteen."

I felt my face scrunch up in confusion, as did everyone in the vicinity. We were all thinking along the same lines, namely, "Why in the name of Merlin's hairy left nut was Hugo reporting on my tattoos to his father?"

Then in a dark moment of sudden realisation, I remembered that Ron worked for the Auror Department, and my tattoos were business contracts for illegal business ventures.

I turned to glare at Hugo while Ron made his move.

He cast his wand at me and my hands flew behind my back, handcuffs materialising out of nowhere. Ron ran around the table and took good care to slam my head down while he dragged me out of my seat.

"You're under arrest," Ron announced, as though it had been unclear.

"For what?" I demanded while everyone else made a huge fuss about it. Granted, I could think of a lot of reasons why I might be under arrest, but Ron Weasley had absolutely no cause to know about any of them.

"Dad!" Rose exclaimed, attempting to drag her father away from me. My dad joined in as well as, well, everyone except Hugo tried to convince Ron it was a really stupid thing to do. This included Harry, who was under the impression Ron had either lost it or was drunk. Honestly, it might have been a combination of both.

"You can't arrest him in his own house on Christmas!" Dylan insisted.

"Well, technically, he can," Hermione replied. "But not without just cause. Ronald, what are you doing?"

"He's wanted for gang activity," Ron said.

"No I'm not," I insisted. "I have absolutely nothing to do with any gangs."

"Then why are you covered in gang tattoos?" Ron demanded, forcing me towards the fireplace.

"They're not gang tattoos!" I exclaimed. "Did Hugo tell you that?"

The mob of people following us to the fireplace turned to glare at Hugo for an explanation. Hugo turned slightly red. "Criminals have to be punished," he muttered, taking a deep drink of his wine.

I got one last glimpse of everyone giving Hugo indignant looks before Ron stuffed me into the Floo and we spun off to the Ministry.

He dragged me into an interrogation room rather like this one and locked my handcuffs to the table.

"Erm, so I'm pretty sure you need more than my tattoos to arrest me," I called after him as he stalked out of the interrogation room and left me there.

I was sitting there for about half an hour before Ron finally came back with a binder full of laminated pictures of tattoos.

"Look mate, if you wanted tattoo advice, I'd be more than happy to give it to you without the necessity of handcuffs," I said while Ron sat down across from me and started flipping through the book.

"Unbutton your shirt," he commanded.

"Well, one, no, and two, how exactly? I'm handcuffed to the table," I replied. I had sort of figured I'd be arrested at one point, but not for something as stupid as Hugo Weasley making the association between my tattoos and various Eastern European gangs.

Ron flicked his wand at me and the buttons popped off my shirt.

"You get to buy me a new one," I said. "After I have you fired for unnecessary force during an interrogation."

"The Celtic cross you've got is commonly associated with the Flynn family," Ron informed me.

"That's nice," I said. "Who're the Flynn family?"

They were some of our best buyers of madcaps. Apparently, the Irish have a thing for hallucinating nice weather. I can't imagine why.

"The quote on your ribs often turns up on the dead bodies of former members of a Wizarding gang in Baltimore Maryland," Ron continued.

"It's an Edgar Allan Poe quote," I said, frowning at him. "Also, where the hell is Baltimore?"

"The gang is known as the Ravens of Death," Ron informed me, ignoring my questions. "They do a roaring trade in cursed objects. That quote has the word 'raven' in it."

"Yes," I agreed. "Because it's from the poem 'The Raven.'"

"Rather ominous, isn't it?" Ron asked. "Quoth the raven nevermore?"

"It was either that or go waffling on about Lenore for a while," I replied. "Look, it's not my fault if you have no appreciation for poetry."

Ron glared at me. "And the dragon on your shoulder-"

"Your brother has the exact same tattoo," I snapped. Charlie Weasley and I had compared them once and found it hilarious that we had the exact same tattoo. Charlie had got his from the same fortune tellers I had, but Charlie's had been as a drink induced poor choice, rather than part of a contract.

Ron glowered at me and seemed about to jinx me, when the door burst open to reveal Harry, Rose, and Hugo.

"Whatever his bail is," Rose was saying as they walked in. "We've got the money. It does me absolutely no good to have my Investments Director in jail."

"You won't have to pay his bail, Rose," Harry replied. "Since there's absolutely no justification for putting him under arrest in the first place. Ron, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"All his tattoos are gang tattoos!" Ron insisted. "Hugo told me."

"Hugo is not a ministry employee!" Harry snapped.

"Well…" Hugo muttered.

Harry stared between the two Weasley men, and then groaned audibly. "Ron," he said. "Please tell me you didn't hire your son to go illegally stake out my son's best friend."

Ron quailed and Hugo, always helpful to figures of authority, nodded.

Harry pulled off his glasses and clasped his hand over his eyes for a moment, trying to supress the overwhelming urge to smack Hugo upside the head and fire Ron.

"Hugo, in your three months of staking them out, did you see anything even _remotely_ illegal take place?" Harry asked.

"N-no," Hugo stuttered.

"Uncle Harry, is it possible to have someone arrested for being an asshole, because if it is, I'd like to press charges against Hugo," Rose said in her sweetest voice. She kicked Hugo in the leg. "You didn't even like Dylan, did you?"

"I-" Hugo started.

"You drove Al to drink again, you asshat," Rose informed him, looking like she might start beating her own brother up.

"He's done what?" Harry asked, sounding concerned.

"We've got him back off it, but he had a bad night a few months ago," I explained. "The first night that Hugo started hitting on Dylan."

Rose and I rounded on Ron. "Which I'm guessing was your idea?" Rose asked, her voice returned to her sweet and lovely tone that scares the shit out of me more than most things.

"Ron," Harry said in a warning tone. "You don't get to send people undercover a, without express permission, and b, without a good damn reason, and c, without them being official Ministry employees!"

"He's up to something!" Ron insisted, gesturing at me desperately.

"The most illegal thing I've ever done was leave Hogsmead during a Hogsmead weekend so we could go see if Rowena Ravenclaw was actually buried where the books said she was," I lied. Technically, beyond my actual criminal activity, it was true. But only very, very technically.

"Dad, if he was up to something, I would know," Rose said, starting to sound very, very deadly. "Do you think _I'm _up to something as well?"

"No, of course not," Ron said dismissively.

"Well, since she's my boss, I'd have a hard time getting anything past her," I pointed out. "And you're welcome to investigate our company all you'd like, but we're not up to anything."

"That won't be necessary," Harry said, flicking his wand at the handcuffs holding me. They opened and I stood up, rubbing my wrists. "You're free to go, Scorpius. I need to have a long talk with my subordinate."

"I'm not your subordinate, Potter!" Ron exclaimed.

"You're on suspension," Harry replied. "Effective immediately."

"You owe me a new shirt," I huffed, while Rose pulled me out of the Auror Department and off towards the exit. I grumbled the whole way to the Floo.

"Hey," Rose said while we stepped into the fireplaces. "At least we were right about Hugo."

* * *

"Of course, you know what happened after that, don't you," I said, shaking my head slightly at McFarlane. "The minute Ron got off suspension, he turned up in your office."

"Cubicle," McFarlane corrected. "I was still new to organised crime at that point. I think that's why he asked me to do it. Give the weird task no one wants to the new guy. Honestly, I think if we were better at managing our contacts in the criminal world, we would've noticed sooner that you lot have your tentacle everywhere."

"You don't have contacts in the criminal world," I replied. "I mean, you did, but the benefit of knowing Aurors is that we know exactly who those contacts are."

"You don't…kill them, do you?" McFarlane asked, looking concerned.

I scoffed. "We're not violent, McFarlane," I replied. "No, we either pay them shit tons of money if they're easy, but if they're challenging we have them erased and shipped off to be relief workers. Or if they're just flat annoying, we, erm…well, it was only the one bloke, but we got him hooked on one of the less detrimental drugs we import exclusively and now he can't turn us in or he won't get his fix."

"That's horrible," McFarlane informed me.

"I know," I said. "But that's why we're famous in the criminal underworld but hadn't made our way back to the Ministry until recently. Of course the fact we've managed to go unnoticed and actually keep others from being noticed only makes us more famous, and a lot of people prefer to deal with us for things since we're nicer, but…"

McFarlane stared at me for a long moment while I trailed off into irrelevant things. "What happened to my grandchild?" he asked finally.

I winced. "Please don't ask me that."

"Oh come on, Malfoy," he said. "You promised to tell me _everything_. So why won't you tell me that?"

"Because I'm not sure I can," I snapped, starting to get a bit mad, since it was easier.

"Why not?" McFarlane asked. "What? Did Rachel take the child and-"

"Because she died," I practically shouted before I could stop myself.

McFarlane backed down instantly. He tried to hide it, but he looked sad at the loss of the granddaughter he'd never met.

"Look, I'm not going to be able to get through this unless I keep telling it chronologically, so would you just let me tell it?" I asked, squeezing my eyes shut against the memories I really didn't want right then.

"I'm sorry," McFarlane muttered. "Go ahead."

**Review!**


	14. Whoever Said Time Heals All Wounds

**A/N: That awkward moment when I try to write something emotionally compromising and ruin it in the first thousand words with crass jokes about masturbation and bestiality...anyways. Thanks for reviewing Blood and Dark Chocolate, Sarnia Nereid, Tom (Dude, you totally reviewed twice. it was awesome), FairyLightsAndGlitter, CurlyFries01, Guest, YaoiFreak-0ww0, Fionamoi, and Charlottembp. It sort of makes me laugh that most of your reviews were along the lines of "God, fucking Hugo, grrr" (rough approximation provided by me) and only two of you made any sort of comment about Scorpius's child, but you know, I can kind of respect that as well. Very well, carry on. Also, for your viewing pleasure, the only character I've cast in my head: news/2013-07-30/doctor-who-peter-capaldi-favourite -to-replace-matt-smith (I tried to just put the link to an image and bad things happened. Sorry if any of you were attempting radio silence until the Christmas Special)**

Chapter Thirteen - Whoever Said Time Heals All Wounds Was Full of Shit

Dylan took the news about Hugo's true colours poorly. It turned out that he had actually liked Hugo and the fact that Hugo had been using him didn't sit well.

"Let's get him addicted to drugs and then make him go through withdrawals," Dylan suggested, holding his head in his hands while he sat at the bar in the kitchen.

"That would make him more suspicious," I pointed out. "Since he's a fuck."

"You guys all suspected, didn't you?" Dylan asked.

"Only us and Will," Rose replied, nodding at me and reaching around me to grab the coffee. Seeing as it was Rose, this meant she stood directly in front of me and leaned against me in order to grab the coffee pot, touching much more of my person than necessary. I frowned at the top of her curly hair.

"Em mostly tried to stay out of it while giving us disapproving looks and Sam didn't mind him since Hugo didn't mind Sam's Charms babble," I explained. "But Rose, and Will, and Al and I were not fond."

"I can't believe I almost got us caught," Dylan replied, hitting his head on the counter.

"Don't beat yourself up about it," I said. "But know that you'll be getting the next contract tattoo."

"That's fair," Dylan agreed.

"I think they want the word 'Dunce' tattooed across your forehead," Al piped up from the other end of the kitchen where he had been standing and glaring at Dylan for the past twenty minutes.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Dylan protested. "I actually thought he liked me."

"No, you thought he was fit," Al replied. "And as we all know, your tolerance for attractive guys with personality flaws is two years, so thank Merlin Hugo revealed himself before it got to that point."

"At least Hugo wasn't addicted to anything," Dylan snapped.

"Weren't you just suggesting we fix that?" I asked.

They shot me a perfectly identical glare and I sank back into the shadows by the coffee pot.

"I was three years sober," Al almost shouted. "Three years, although Merlin knows why, since it clearly didn't do any good…"

"What do you mean it didn't do any good?" Dylan demanded. "You actually remember the past three years clearly, and didn't spend most of your mornings being sick in the toilet, and didn't wander through life in some weird hybrid state of both drunk and hungover at the same time!"

"And you still don't want me!" Al exclaimed.

"Seriously?" Dylan replied. "Is this actually what this is about?"

"Well what the fuck did you think it was about?" Al demanded.

"We'll just go…literally anywhere else," Rose said, pulling me out of the kitchen so we could leave them to yell at each other about their various unresolved issues.

"So that was deeply uncomfortable," I commented, taking a drink of my coffee and flopping onto one of the sofas in the lounge.

"Right?" Rose asked, siting sideways in an armchair with her ankles crossed. I noticed for the first time that she had a scarlet pygmy puff tattooed on her ankle. I grinned.

"I like your tattoo," I said.

She rolled her eyes and blushed slightly. "I figured that as the technical leader of our organisation, I should at least have our insignia."

"It looks nice," I agreed.

"You know that other criminals give us shit for having the least badass animal as our tag, right?" Will asked, joining us in the lounge with a piece of toast and some coffee. "And were Al and Dylan shouting incoherently at each other when you left?"

"No, they were still coherent when we were in there," Rose replied.

"Pygmy puffs are not the least badass animal," I said. "They have gladiator matches over crimes of honour and crimes of passion. Seriously though, the pink tribe got in a bitch fight over an arranged marriage with the turquoise ones who live in the basement and it got ugly."

Rose and Will stared at me with expressions that fell somewhere between confusion and pity.

"Is that what you do with your spare time instead of jacking off?" Will asked. "You watch pygmy puffs?"

"They're simultaneous events," Al shouted from the kitchen, apparently with enough situational awareness to continue his theory of me having a pygmy puff fetish.

"I do not!" I shouted back.

Will and Rose laughed at me and were interrupted by a tap on the window. I opened it and a large tawny owl flew in with a letter in its beak. It shook off the snow, took a drink of my coffee, and flew off. I closed the window again and opened the envelope. Exactly as predicted, it was a picture of Rachel. She was dressed in the sluttiest Mrs Clause costume you could imagine, was sucking on an oversized candy-cane, and had one hand on her belly. At that point, she was seven months pregnant. On the back of the picture, she had written "Merry Christmas" and kissed the paper. There was no return address still.

"I just…I don't even want the Sapphire back, or Rachel," I said. "But I'd really like to know my child at some point."

"Your fault for knocking up a wanted thief," Will replied airily.

"Fuck you," I said. "And hey, we're wanted criminals as well."

"Only you, and only by my father," Rose pointed out. "Who has absolutely no proof of any illicit activity."

I grumbled and went back to drinking my coffee.

January passed without incident. And then halfway through February, Sam stumbled into the kitchen very early in the morning with a cheery grin on his face that didn't belong to anyone sane at eight in the morning.

Rose and I watched him go through the motions of making himself breakfast – during which he accidentally scrambled the shells with his eggs, burnt his toast, and failed to put a filter in the coffee pot before he turned it on – until Dom waltzed into the room, grabbed one of the pieces of burnt toast, snogged Sam way too passionately for a normal morning kiss, and then ran off to practice.

Sam started humming to himself while he scraped his eggs onto a plate and only when he turned around did he notice Rose and me staring at him.

"Please don't eat those," Rose requested, nodding at his eggs. Rose and I belong to the group of people who only eat coffee for breakfast unless it's a special occasion, so it was unnerving enough to watch him go for food, let alone destroyed food.

"Dom and I are getting married," Sam announced, a huge grin splitting his face. "There are shells in my eggs aren't there?"

"Yep," Rose and I agreed, too in shock about their impending marriage to say anything else.

"Whoops," Sam said. "I didn't really get much sleep last night…"

"I should imagine," I agreed. "So Dom's the one who popped the question?"

"No!" Sam insisted, looking mildly offended. "I asked her."

"Right," Rose said slowly. "By accident, right?"

"No!" Sam insisted hotly. Then he stared down at his inedible eggs. "Maybe."

"One of those things that just sort of slips out when you don't mean it to?" I guessed.

"I even had a whole plan," Sam lamented whimsically. "I was going to put fairy lights in the garden and charm some of the flowers to bloom even though it's February and then I was going to make her dinner and…"

"And you accidentally popped the question, what, while you were brushing your teeth?" I asked.

"No!" Sam insisted.

Rose and I raised our eyebrows at him. It's funny, because Rose can only raise her left eyebrow and I can only raise my right and so when we were sitting next to each other, there was an omega made out of our eyebrows. Sorry, it's not actually funny, but I was at one point in my life a complete geek.

"It – it was in the shower," he mumbled.

Rose and I burst out laughing.

Everyone else thought it was just as funny as we did, except for Dom, who thought it was sort of sweet. It was exactly the sort of accident we would expect from Sam, who brightened considerably when Dom suggested he still put fairy lights in the garden and cook her dinner anyways. They had it all arranged for Valentine's Day, and being the creepy people we are without any form of social lives, the rest of us watched them from an upstairs window.

"They're so adorable," Em said, leaning against Will's chest in the window seat. Al and Dylan were still avoiding each other, as they had been doing since the Hugo accident. "Funny how they've been dating for less than two years and they're engaged."

"That's a pointed comment, isn't it?" Will asked.

"See, this is why I love you," Em replied. "Because you're smart."

"I knew I was forgetting something," Will said. "Let's see here on my checklist – make millions of galleons illegally, check. Play Quidditch professionally, check. Have smoking hot girlfriend, check. Live in a fantastic house with all of my friends, check. Erm… oh there it is. Marry aforementioned smoking hot girlfriend…"

Em pushed his shoulder playfully and shook her head. "You can't propose now, you'll steal Sam's thunder."

"And I suppose I'm to find a ring, right?" he asked.

"That would be nice," Em agreed.

"I think that was the most romantic proposal I've ever heard of in my entire life," Dylan said drily.

"Aren't they just supposed to be 'hey, I find you deeply attractive in every way and wish to spend the rest of time legally joined to you'?" I asked.

"With more sugar coating, yes," Rose agreed.

"That's good to know," I said.

Sam and Dom threw themselves into wedding planning wholeheartedly and Dom officially moved in. She had already been living with us, at least as long as we'd lived there and she'd done time with us in Knockturn Alley, but she never technically declared that she was moving in until after they were engaged. For her sake, we pretended that this was going to change something and then went back to everything being exactly the same way it had been for the past two years.

By March, it was completely expected to see them cooped up together at a table in the library sketching ideas for their wedding. Every so often, they would lean across the table and snog and then grin sappily at each other.

"It's nauseating, that's what it is," Al decided while we lurked in the door to the library to make sure Sam wasn't going to accidentally set fire to anything. It was a bad habit he'd picked up.

"You're just bitter and single," I informed him.

"So what does that make you?" he asked.

"Bitter and single," I replied. He laughed. I started to say something else, but there was a knock on the front door. No one ever turned up at our front door except for the occasional Muggle child on Halloween, who we always accommodated with these fabulous things called Mars bars that Dylan and Sam had introduced us to a few years back. But it was March.

We glanced at each other and then headed down the stairs to the front door just as Em opened it. We were standing on the other side of the door, so all we could see was Em's reaction. Her face went slack and her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged out. When her hand fell away from the door and it swung open fully, we saw exactly why.

Rachel had lost the weight very quickly, which shouldn't really surprise you, since that's just sort of how she is. She had a very stylish knit hat on over her much longer than I remembered hair and was wearing a fur-lined winter coat. In one hand, she had a roller suitcase in some fancy Muggle designer brand, but in the other she had a baby carrier.

"Sorry, I missed your birthday, didn't I?" she asked, brushing past the three of us into the house. "Yours too, Al. Twenty-one, right? That's what it said in _Witch Weekly _anyway."

I completely ignored everything she was saying and found myself on my knees next to the baby carrier she had set down. The baby was asleep, with a perfect little rosebud mouth curled downwards in a pout. She was wrapped in a pink blanket and had a matching pink knit hat pulled over her head. My hands were shaking when I brushed one of my fingers across her cheek. She fussed slightly in her sleep and tried to kick off the blanket.

"Don't wake her up, Scorpius, you have no idea how hard it is to get her to sleep in the first place," Rachel said, rolling her eyes while she took off her coat. I didn't even care that she was acting like she'd never been gone.

"Wh – what's her name?" I whispered, really unsure what to do with the deeply intense emotions coursing through my body that were informing me that literally nothing else mattered aside from keeping the tiny little girl – my little girl – safe and happy and cared for.

* * *

"Sorry, I just – I need a moment," I said, wiping the tears of my cheeks.

McFarlane nodded understandingly, looking slightly cut up about it as well.

"So what was her name?" he asked finally.

"Angelica," I said, taking a deep breath. "Rachel thought it was funny since it was because of the Seraphim Sapphire that she existed anyways."

* * *

But she had a job that she was supposed to be working and she wanted me to babysit.

"Of course," I said instantly. Rachel launched into a lecture on infant care and gave me a whole bag of the necessary effects and stepped into the Floo to meet up with her contacts. She had wasted no time in assuring us that the Seraphim Sapphire was hidden very far away from us and we would not be getting our hands on it. The only reason she'd come back was because she needed someone to watch Angelica and she trusted no one else to do it. She barely trusted me, but figured that since I was her father, I was the best candidate.

I spent the whole day sprawled out on a sheepskin rug in the den with Angelica next to me. Once she woke up, it became apparent she'd inherited Rachel's – and your – blue eyes but she had my hair. Her absolute favourite thing to do was hold onto my finger like it was a lifeline and then make gurgling noises.

Al and Em had failed to inform anyone else of the fact I was spending the day in the den with my daughter, and so it was kind of unsurprising that Rose yelped in shock when she walked in and discovered us. The noise made Angelica start and she burst out crying. I scooped her up and nestled her against my chest until she calmed down, realising as I did that I lacked the soft and squishy chest she was used to.

"Oh holy Merlin," Rose muttered, holding her heart and blinking at me in complete surprise. "Why is there a baby?"

"Her name is Angelica," I replied petulantly. "Because her mother is silly and if I had any say in it, she would have a much better name."

Rose let her hand fall from her chest and she instead knelt next to me on the floor. She brushed her fingers across Angelica's downy blonde curls and her face melted.

"She's beautiful," she said.

"And she's mine," I replied, relieved that she had calmed down and instead seemed to be falling asleep. "Because I'm not giving her back to her awful mummy who stole her away from me."

"I can't tell if you're talking to me or her," Rose said.

"I can't either," I replied. "But I'm not letting Rachel take her away again."

"Rachel was here?" Rose asked.

"No, the stork dropped her off," I retorted.

"Well, what was Rachel doing here?" Rose asked, giving me an annoyed look. "And she's asleep, Blondie, you can put her back down."

"No," I replied, continuing to cradle Angelica in my arms instead. "And Rachel's working a job and needed me to babysit."

Rose pursed her lips in a disapproving way.

"Oh come on," I said. "We get up to way worse than she does almost every single day."

"I know," Rose replied. "Which is what worries me."

"Why does that worry you?" I asked.

"Because neither of you are exactly fit parents," Rose pointed out.

"You don't understand," I said. "I would give up anything for her."

"I suppose that's a start," Rose replied, before she left me to my babysitting.

When Rachel returned from her meeting with her contact, she found the two of us unconscious on the rug. I only woke up when she kicked me lightly in the foot. My hand was protectively on Angelica's stomach and she was sucking on her thumb.

"Don't take her," I begged. "Please."

"Relax," Rachel said. "I'm going to be here for a bit. The job's more involved than I thought it was, so I can't just waltz in and steal the bloke's broom."

"You're stealing someone's broom?" I asked.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I got hired as part of an on-going bitch fight between two long retired Quidditch players who spend their time getting weird revenge on each other. Do you mind if I stay here?"

"As long as you let me take care of Angelica, then no, I don't mind at all," I said. "I'll see about getting one of the spare rooms outfitted for human occupation."

"So you and Rose are dating?" Rachel asked, scooping up Angelica.

"No," I said. "Why?"

"Oh come on," she said. "I bore your child and you're going to make me sleep in a guest room?"

"I figured that when you left, that was sort of your announcement that you wanted nothing to do with me," I replied.

Rachel shrugged. "Well, for the time I'm here," she said. "You have no idea how hard it is to attract a man when you're pregnant."

"No because staying with the kid's father would be too much to ask," I grumbled.

"Oh come on," she said, walking up the stairs towards my room. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"Not in front of the baby," I said waspishly.

"Scorpius, she's a month old," Rachel replied. "She doesn't understand English."

"So?" I asked, slightly abashed.

"You don't get to be protective of her hearing for a few more months," Rachel said. "Then, by all means, go ahead. For now, I'm going to put a bassinette in the room adjacent to yours, get your transfiguration guru to put a door between the rooms, and then I'm going to shag you."

I decided I could live with that course of action and didn't even particularly mind when Rachel made me get up to soothe the crying baby at four in the morning. I did mind when she laughed at me when she discovered me asleep in an armchair in the adjacent room with Angelica curled up in my lap. Of course, Rose discovered us first and snapped a picture, and then woke up Rachel.

"Why are you laughing?" Rose asked. I think she figured I was still asleep. "That's one of the most adorable things I've ever seen."

Rachel's job took her two weeks, and then she started to get ready to leave, acting very much like she intended to take Angelica with her.

"No," I said. "No, she's my daughter too, and I want to keep her."

"I'm not just letting you take her," Rachel replied. "I'm her mother."

"You have a warrant for your arrest out," I pointed out.

"So I'll keep moving like I've been doing these past nine months," Rachel replied. "You're not taking my child."

"And you're not taking mine!" I exclaimed.

"What?" Rachel asked. "You want to take this to court or something?"

"I have more lawyers than you," I replied. "Also, you'd take one step into that court and they'd arrest you and then I'd get to keep her. So sure. Let's take this to court."

"I'd tell them she was someone else's," Rachel threatened.

"I'd have testing done," I countered.

"She can't grow up without a mother," Rachel insisted.

"Like you'd know," I snapped.

"Exactly," Rachel replied. "I know what it's like to grow up without one, and that's not going to be my daughter."

"But you can't take her," I said, holding Angelica closer. She was blinking at me with her big blue eyes.

Rachel sighed. Eventually we decided to draw up a sharing agreement. We would swap every two weeks unless one of us needed to go underground for some reason. We agreed unanimously that she would be kept away from all criminal activity for as long as possible. Considering what we both did for a living, it was altogether unlikely that she would get through her entire life without coming into at least contact with it, but we would protect her from it as long as we could.

Those were my favourite weeks. Rachel would drop her off on Friday morning and I would fail to go into work and instead stay home playing with Angelica. My utter control over my work schedule meant I could actually take the whole two weeks off, although Rose would get snippy with me if I did.

"It wouldn't be a big deal if I could get someone else to willingly threaten Daniel Ellison, but you're sort of it," she explained when she dragged me into her office at the house.

"I can't threaten Daniel Ellison," I said. "What if he gets an actually competent assassin to come after me? Then who would take care of Angelica? I can't risk things like that."

"Blondie, Daniel Ellison isn't going to suddenly change his paradigm. He doesn't even send proper assassins after you. He sends his bored security men who are under explicit instruction to not actually kill you," Rose replied. "We've corresponded on the matter."

"Yeah, but-" I protested.

She glared at me, and I accepted my defeat.

As the months wore on, I got to see her grow. Her bright blonde hair grew out into a fuzzy halo of ringlets and she tended to stare out at the world with frightful intelligence in her eyes.

"Oh look," Dylan said, walking into the kitchen with the day's paper while I stood there feeding Angelica applesauce. It was almost August. "Peter Cartwright announced that his foundation has almost successfully eradicated Muggle homelessness in the UK."

"Yes, we stole a priceless gem from a saint, I get it," I replied, turning back to Angelica, who was not a fan of the applesauce. "And it's a good thing we did," I told her. "Because otherwise I wouldn't have you."

There was no way she understood me, but she grinned at me anyways.

"You know, I always figured you'd get yourself whipped by some hot girl, not a six month old," Dylan said, laughing at me.

"Angelica is the prettiest girl I ever need in my life, thanks," I replied haughtily. Dylan just laughed and walked off.

He had been gone mere moments when Em walked into the kitchen and brushed a speck of applesauce off Angelica's cheek.

"How are you two doing?" she asked, leaning against the counter next to the high chair.

"We are not fond of applesauce," I replied. "But Mummy says it's what we're supposed to eat. How are you doing?"

Em shrugged. "Will hasn't bought me a ring yet and seems to think we're engaged anyways."

"I'm sorry," I replied. I turned back to Angelica. "Your Uncle Will is very silly."

"Also, I'm pregnant," Em added.

I dropped the applesauce spoon and Angelica laughed.

"Congratulations!" I exclaimed, hugging her.

"Thanks," she said, looking amused. "You know, a few months ago, that wouldn't have been cause for congratulations."

"No, but now you two won't look at me like I'm mad since you'll know what I'm talking about," I replied.

For her six month birthday, Rachel got her a locket with a picture of each of us in the panels. Angelica liked to gum at it when no one was looking, and so I never let her wear it when she was at my house, lest she swallow it on accident. I got her a stuffed pygmy puff that she refused to let go of whenever she was sleeping.

It was the week after my birthday when Rachel came to collect her.

"No don't," I protested. "Just one more week."

Rachel laughed at me. "You can't do this every time," she said.

"Yes I can," I replied. "Because before we know it, she's going to be starting Hogwarts and then we'll only get to see her at holidays and she'll grow up to be bitter and resentful of us because she'll be a teenager and every teenager resents their parents and-"

"We'll be back in two weeks," Rachel promised.

She wasn't.

Two weeks went by, and then three, and then a month, and then it was a week shy of Halloween. I spent the whole time scouring the planet for them, but absolutely no leads turned up. I even popped into your office, if you'll remember.

"You're the bloke looking for Rachel Tyler, aren't you?" I asked, pretending not to know you were her father.

"Why do you have any leads?" you asked, looking quite enthusiastic about the idea.

"Actually, I was hoping you did," I replied.

"Not for almost two years," you said.

And so I even asked Ellison. He had turned up the truth about Hugo's employment a week after we found out, so I figured he might know something about Rachel since he's rather prudent about keeping tabs on the people he wants dead. But he didn't know anything either.

"I'm sure it's just Rachel being Rachel," Rose comforted, rubbing my shoulders in a soothing way.

I knew I was going spare, and driving everyone else mad along with me. "But what if she's not?" I asked.

She wasn't.

On Halloween, there was a knock on the door and I answered it, assuming it was going to be a trick-or-treater. Rachel collapsed into my arms and clung to me desperately, sobbing uncontrollably. After a moment, I realised her clothes were torn and filthy, soaked with blood that I realised was Rachel's. She was covered in bruises and cuts and most of the fingers on her left hand were broken and dislocated. She was much too thin, and I could see her ribs through the holes in her shirt. And she hadn't stopped crying.

"Where is she?" I asked, unable to stop the panic in my voice. Rachel didn't stop crying. "Rachel, where is she?"

"They – they took her," she managed to choke out. Her voice was hoarse from the crying, and also, I realised later, from screaming.

"Who took her?" I demanded. "Tell me who took her so I can go get her back."

Rachel shook her head and kept sobbing. She's the only person I've ever seen truly broken. Mostly because I couldn't actually see myself the few months afterwards.

"They killed her," Rachel whispered, sinking to the floor because her legs couldn't take it anymore. "They killed her."

**Review! **


	15. Two Murders, a Saint, and a Sapphire

**A/N: So I felt bad about the way the last chapter ended, so I'm updating again today instead of waiting until noon tomorrow. If this chapter seems a bit disjointed, it's because it's supposed to. I figured he wouldn't really remember the exact details of the few months following the news of Angelica's death. Although, full disclaimer, I'm not a parent and I actively avoid babysitting, so I'm not really sure how the bond between parent-child goes from the parent's point of view. Anyway, thanks to: Fionamoi, Charlottembp, expect0p4tronum, FairyLightsAndGlitter, stevimarena1, KeishaM, blue21, Sarnia Nereid, Blood and Dark Chocolate, Prunella7, Tom, MaebeSara, district 9 3-4 for reviewing. You guys are all kinds of awesome. **

Chapter Fourteen - Two Murders, a Saint, and a Sapphire

Rachel eventually passed out from exhaustion and her injuries. Al took her up to one of the guest rooms and set about making it into a proper hospital room. We didn't know who was after Rachel so we figured it was best not to turn her over to St Mungo's. That was the exact reason Al had gone into medical school, after all. To offer us discrete medical care.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even begin to contemplate it. I needed to know immediately who had done this, because I needed to find the person responsible and destroy them in the most painful way possible, preferably ending their life with my bare hands after peeling them alive and slowly squeezing lemon juice into the open skin while supplying them with a fresh source of blood so they wouldn't die before I was done skinning them alive.

"Wake her up," I begged Al, standing outside Rachel's door.

"No," Al replied. "We have no idea what she's been through, except that we know it was hell. Whatever else you need to know can wait. You can't bring her back, Scorpius."

He whispered the last part, but it felt like he'd screamed it.

"Don't tell me what I can't do," I shouted. "I have to-"

"Have to bend the laws of existence?" Al asked, manhandling me away from Rachel's room. "Good luck with that."

"Oh shut up," I snapped. "Your family does it all the time."

"Scorpius," Al scolded. "Rachel has clearly been tortured for who knows how long, and all you'll do by harassing her is add to whatever damage she's already had. She just lost her child."

"So did I!" I yelled. That was as far as I got before he stunned me and had Sam and Will drag me to my room. I came to a few minutes later long enough for Em to hand me a potion. I drank it without question and passed out instantly.

There are a lot of wounds that heal over time, but losing your child isn't one of them. The knowledge that I won't ever see her again is what I wake up to every single morning. And I spent a long time convincing myself that if I had just been a little more adamant about keeping her that extra week, then maybe I'd still have her. Maybe it would've gone differently. Maybe they wouldn't have found Rachel in the first place, and maybe she'd still be alive.

When I woke up, I realised my pillow was comprised of Rose's stomach and she was repetitively running her fingers through my hair.

"We gave you a dreamless sleep potion," she said softly. "But you kept crying anyways, so I volunteered to make sure you didn't drown in your sleep."

I swallowed and nodded, trying not to start crying again. "Would you mind just…staying here for a bit?"

She didn't say anything, but she didn't move either.

When I was finally feeling able to get up – it took several days – I made my way to Rachel's room. Al had fixed her up as best he could, including re-setting the fingers on her hand and cleaning all the blood off her. He had her on some tranquilisers and painkillers as well, but her eyes kept sliding out of focus on things and then skipping back to whatever she was trying to look at.

"Rachel," I said quietly, sitting in the chair next to her bed. "You don't have to tell me anything else, just tell me who did it."

"For two months," she said. "I didn't break for two months."

"Who did this to you?" I asked.

"I lied to you," Rachel said, sounding like she might start crying. For one brief moment, I had a flash of hope that she had lied to me about Angelica and that maybe everything was going to be okay. "I was hired to steal the Sapphire."

"What?" I asked.

"I was hired to steal the Sapphire and then I decided not to give it to my employer," she continued. "And so they found me and they took her and they promised they wouldn't hurt her, even if I never told them where it was. Two months. They tortured me for two months."

I winced. I felt very bad for her, but I needed to know who it was.

"And when I finally told them they killed her," Rachel said, bursting into tears again.

"Who did, Rachel?" I asked, trying my very best to deal with her gently. "Who?"

Her unfocused eyes slid back towards me. "Peter Cartwright."

* * *

"No," McFarlane interjected. "There's no way."

"Shut up, sit down, and please let me tell you what happened," I said.

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that Peter Cartwright tortured my daughter for two months and then murdered my granddaughter all over a stupid gemstone," McFarlane replied.

"That's exactly what I expect you to believe, since that's why I'm fucking here in the first place," I snapped.

McFarlane stopped pacing and sat back down in his chair.

"You're here because I found incontrovertible evidence leading us to your drug trade," he replied.

"Since we've already established that you don't actually have contacts in the criminal world, who do you think leaked that information to you?" I demanded. "Would you please be quiet?"

McFarlane huffed and tapped his coffee mug against the table irritably. "Fine," he said.

* * *

"Scorpius, what are you doing?" Em asked while I packed a duffle bag with a Beater's bat and the map we had of Cartwright's house.

I ignored her and laced up my shoes.

"Scorpius," she said, holding her hands protectively across her slightly swollen belly.

"He killed my daughter," I replied in a deadly quiet tone. "So I figured I'd pay him a visit and bash his skull in."

"Scorpius," Em scolded in a warning tone, following me while I stalked out of the room. When I didn't listen, she called for Will and Sam and Al, all of whom appeared out of nowhere and tackled me before they wrested me to the floor. Sam cast an anti-apparition ward on me and then they blocked off the Floo.

"If you just go storming into his house in broad daylight and murder him, you'll make him a martyr," Will said. "He'll die with everyone's undying love and devotion for all the good things he's done. You'll get locked up in Azkaban and no one will ever believe you when you tell them you did it because of Angelica."

"Exactly!" I shouted. "No one's ever going to believe the word of a wanted, oft arrested, master thief and a criminal underlord who spends his time hanging around with Daniel Ellison. Since they're never going to believe me anyways, who gives a fuck if I go to jail?"

"We do!" Sam insisted. "Think about this for a second, mate. What do we do for a living?"

"Traffic in illegal objects and thieve real estate," I replied.

"And?" he asked. I stared at him blankly. "We get revenge and we destroy people. We all became friends by working together to get revenge and destroy people, and granted, this is slightly more serious than charming the Slytherin common room pink, but it is actually what we're good at."

"And if Peter Cartwright often goes around hurting families, this won't be the first time he's done it," Al pointed out. "If you really want to get him and avenge Angelica's death, which I think is what you're going for, then we're going to have to break his reputation as well. Come on. You were the best in our year, think about it for a second."

"And to be completely honest, we don't know for sure if it was Peter Cartwright, since the man's practically a saint," Dylan said, appearing in the hallway.

"Not even Rachel would lie about the person who was responsible for her daughter's death," Em said, sounding uncomfortable with her own analysis.

Will had his arms wrapped around her protectively since she was pregnant.

"You know, we never asked," Al said quietly.

"Never asked what?" I grumbled.

"We never asked her how she knew Cartwright even had the Sapphire," Al replied.

Rose stumbled across us at that moment, me pinned to the ground by a combination of Sam's and Al's wands, Will holding Em, and Sam and Dylan looking confused.

She took in the scene and what Al had just pointed out. "You know what else we never asked?"

"What?" Al asked.

"We never asked how Cartwright got it in the first place," she said. She almost got halfway to a mirthless laugh. "We're going to have to do some research."

I was never an obsessive person before then. I had no reason to be. I know some people just get obsessive because it's in their nature, but I wasn't one of them. But I spent every single waking moment from then out researching the history of the Seraphim Sapphire and Peter Cartwright.

We had only a few definitive points in time to go with. We knew that Rachel had joined up with us in September of 2025 in order to steal the Sapphire. We'd stolen it in November of the same year, and cracked the curse on it in June of '26. It had been retaken from Rachel in October of '27.

We knew that prior to our breaking of the curse, the only ways to safely acquire the Sapphire were to find it, receive it as a gift – and let's be honest, absolutely no one is that generous -, or to murder its previous owner. If you didn't acquire it safely, you had precisely one year before the curse killed you. The only way to break the curse was to have someone else steal it.

"Wait," I said when I got to the part about breaking the curse by having it stolen. "When was the first time anyone had heard of Peter Cartwright?"

"Erm…"

We all exchanged looks.

"Not until Rachel brought him up," Al said. "And then he started cropping up in the papers with a bunch of humanitarian awards."

"So in '25," I said. "Right?"

"Yeah," Dylan agreed. "Why?"

"And we didn't steal it until November," I continued. "So, if that was the absolute last day possible, he could have activated the curse on himself as late as November of '24. Is there any way we can get a hold of records of break ins between November of '24 and September of '25? No one would have wanted to say what was stolen, they probably would've just said nothing was taken. It'll be someone high profile, lots of money, lots of influence…"

"What are you looking for?" Em asked.

"The last person to have the Sapphire before Peter Cartwright," I replied.

"I might know how we can get the records," Rose piped up. "But you're not going to like it."

OOooOOooOOooOO

It turns out that Hugo Weasley responds to threats very, very well. Particularly threats involving his continued existence.

"What's this?" I asked, picking up one of the pieces of paper on his desk. He was a fully-fledged auror-in-training at that point, his illegal stakeout of our lives forgiven. "Is this…is this a warrant to search Daniel Ellison's office?"

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," Hugo said, looking uncomfortable with my presence.

"Let's see…for December 10th, since he'll be in the opera, is it? Wouldn't it be a shame if something were to convince him to stay at home that night?" I asked. I got far too close to Hugo's person and growled my next line as ominously as possible. "Do you know what Daniel Ellison does to Aurors who come snooping into his office? He casts their feet in cement and then while he waits for it to set, he has them tortured. And Danny's got a bit of a hard on for old Muggle torture techniques. He doesn't bother with the Cruciatus Curse, because that's too clean. No, he really likes it when they bleed, and when he can hear their flesh split open where he carves on them with a knife-"

"What do you want?" Hugo demanded, looking deeply unsettled.

"I want the home invasion reports from November 2024 to September 2025," I said. "Within the week. Or I'll show Daniel Ellison this warrant, and I'll comfort your mother while she cries at your funeral."

Hugo swallowed nervously.

"And let's not forget, you owe me, you pusillanimous law-abiding sycophant," I finished with a sneer.

Hugo's eye twitched like he might have soiled himself, and in response, I made a copy of the warrant and left the office.

"Did it work?" Rose asked when I got home. I ignored her and flipped over the copy of the warrant and scribbled a note on the back. I handed it off to one of our owls and set about fixing myself a drink.

"I'm pretty sure he'll have it all within a week," I said.

"What'd you threaten him with?" Rose asked, eyeing my whiskey uncertainly.

"Daniel Ellison," I replied with a shrug.

Rose glanced at the window the owl had just left. "Did you just mail the warrant to Ellison?"

"Yep," I agreed, polishing off my drink.

"Scorpius, he's still my brother, whatever other fuckery he gets up to. He's still someone's son. You can't just-" Rose started.

"I told Ellison that Hugo was one of ours and that he should take care not to be in his office when the raid happens," I said. "But that if he absolutely had to be there, he would have to answer to me if Hugo died. I said he could fuck him up a bit, but nothing irreparable."

Rose let out a deep breath. "Nice to know you're still in there somewhere," she said.

I nodded and kept drinking. And then I didn't stop drinking that whole night. By the time midnight rolled around, I was so drunk I couldn't really stand properly. I hadn't left my office, and was about to resign myself to sleeping in my chair when Rose walked in and flicked on the light. I winced and tried to swat it away.

"Come on," she said softly. "You can't sleep in here."

"Oh come on, Rosie," I slurred. "This is the first time I've been drunk since October, can't I just sleep on my desk for fun?"

"No," she replied, crossing her arms and giving me a stern look.

"You were more fun in Hogwarts," I informed her. I wasn't willing to admit that I couldn't actually stand up. "Like that one time you got drunk and you begged me to fuck you."

I toppled out of my chair sideways onto the floor and Rose sighed.

"You know, you never used to be a mean drunk," she said.

"Does that even count as mean?" I asked. "It's not like I called you a whore. Fuck, I'm more of a whore than you are. I can name exactly three of the women I've slept with. Three. One was a journalist, one had my baby, and the third just so happens to be the daughter of the man who killed my little girl-"

I broke off sobbing hysterically and Rose took pity on me. She pulled me to my feet and helped me stagger down the hall to my room before she dropped me on my bed and pulled off my shoes. At that point the room was starting to spin – or maybe it had always been spinning, I don't really remember too clearly – and I was content to lie on my bed crying.

Rose undid my belt and helped me out of my trousers before she tucked me under my blankets and started to leave. With the very poor grasp I still had on my motor functions, I grabbed her wrist.

"Please don't leave me," I whispered. She didn't argue with me and climbed into the bed next to me. I rolled over and wrapped my arms around her waist with my head pressed against her stomach.

We were still lying like that when I woke up with a terrible hangover. At first I couldn't tell why I'd woken up, until Al cleared his throat.

I blinked and managed to turn my head far enough to see him staring at us. I'm sure you've had a scotch induced hangover before, McFarlane, but since you've been dry for four years, let me just remind you that they suck. They suck worse than just about anything except wine and tequila.

"What?" I croaked, and then I decided I was not going to be opening my mouth again lest I vomit on Rose.

"Erm…the grand royal twit dropped off several boxes of papers," Al replied. "He also said something about 'please for the love of Merlin I'm sorry don't tell Ellison.'"

I shrugged one shoulder at him in acknowledgment that I had heard him, since moving anything else was liable to either make me black out or throw up.

"I'll go grab you a pepper up potion," he offered, heading out of the room. He returned moments later with the steaming potion. I managed to drink it without waking Rose up and once the steam stopped pouring out my ears, I felt well enough to sit up and put on proper clothes.

"How's Rachel doing?" I asked. As awful as it was, I couldn't bring myself to visit her because I blamed her for Angelica's death.

"She's…not well," Al replied. "I'm not a psychologist or a therapist or anything, but I think she needs one."

I just nodded, already focused on the knowledge that we had a year's worth of auror records to sort through.

"We can ignore anyone who isn't rich, or wasn't at the time of the break in," I instructed, popping open the top box and distributing files amongst those assembled. Surprisingly, Dom and Sam were there. "Aren't you two supposed to be debating flowers?"

"Here's the thing," Dom replied, picking up a stack of files. "You're going to be at my wedding, and you're going to smile in the pictures, and I'd rather not have to carve that smile onto your face, so we're going to help you fix this as best possible before we get married."

I could accept this as reasonable logic and together the lot of us set about sifting through files. Eventually, Rose woke up and joined us. At one point, we sent Sam off to do breakfast since he remains the most competent in the kitchen. Will continued to sit protectively close to Em the whole time. At various intervals, Al would go to check on Rachel.

* * *

"Where is she now?" McFarlane asked, sounding slightly broken. I think he was starting to believe that Peter Cartwright might have been responsible.

"We established a safe house for her in the Solomon Islands," I replied. "She lives there with a full time caretaker and a bodyguard."

"Why does she need a full time caretaker?" McFarlane asked in a panicked tone.

"Because she's not capable of taking care of herself," I replied. "I still don't know what they did to her, but she goes to pieces around knives, and fire, and loud noises. She goes completely hysterical if she hears Christmas carols, although we have no idea why. But she's safe and looked after. I promise. She's just…not well."

McFarlane nodded slowly. "Sorry, I just didn't know if you were going to get there before I went crazy."

I nodded. "Understandable. May I go on?"

"Yes, sorry," McFarlane said.

* * *

There were over 2500 break ins over the time period. It took us a month to get through them all, since we had to cross check for their financial records. A lot of it was just scanning through to eliminate the people who had claimed something was taken. No one in their right mind admits to having the Seraphim Sapphire, so no one could really admit to having it stolen either.

It was a Christmas present.

Al was checking on Rachel, and Dylan was asleep. Will and Em had gone off to bed because the baby had started kicking and they'd decided that was a celebratory opportunity or something. Sam and Dom were stealing a rare moment of quiet to work on their wedding. Rose and I were stuffed in armchairs by the fire drinking our tea while we pored over the files.

"Wait…" Rose muttered, reading one of the files with her eyes narrowed. "Richard Holloman…"

"What about him?" I asked, my eyes starting to drift shut with exhaustion.

"He was a heavily influential advocate," Rose said. "For all sorts of lost causes, for years, except that when he got to them they stopped being lost. Everyone said he had the golden touch…"

"When was his home invaded?" I asked.

"March," Rose replied. "So it would've been six months before Rachel teamed up with us. The thing is, he donated loads of money to charities and no one ever knew where he got the money since his job didn't pay that well and he wasn't from a wealthy family."

"And it would've taken about six months for Cartwright to realise he couldn't break the curse," I said. "Let's assume he was responsible for the charms on his safe, which made him almost level with Sam in terms of ability, but since it took both Sam and Will to crack the curse, he would've realised he couldn't do it alone…"

"So he hired Rachel to steal it so he could have an extension," Rose continued. "But he – remember, she was specifically looking for the people who found the founder's tombs, which was how Ioan got involved in the first place. And Will and Sam got some magical knowledge from Ravenclaw's tomb when they touched it. Maybe…maybe Cartwright knew about that and knew that they would be able to crack the curse since they had that knowledge?"

"You're saying that maybe he specifically fixed this so we would be the ones to crack the Sapphire since Will and Sam were the only ones who could?" I asked.

"I mean it's a long shot, but as long as we're accusing a latter day saint of brutal murder and torture, why not go all the way, right?" Rose asked. She glanced back at the file and her eyes widened. "Oh."

"Oh?" I asked.

"What was the first thing we learned about the curse when we started researching it?" Rose asked.

"That you can break it only by having it stolen or by murdering its previous owner before you take it," I replied automatically.

"Richard Holloman died of injuries sustained during the home invasion two nights later in St Mungo's," Rose said. "But this could all be a coincidence."

"We should go talk to Mrs Holloman," I replied.

OOooOOooOOooOO

She was a lovely woman. She was still in mourning for her lost husband, but she was more than willing to have the two of us in for tea.

"Mrs Holloman," I started. "I'm very sorry to have to ask you about your husband, but-"

"Oh, everyone's asked me everything already," she said. "I doubt you'll ask anything new. Go ahead, dear."

"Mrs Holloman," Rose said. "Is there any chance your husband was in possession of the Seraphim Sapphire?"

Apparently no one had asked this. Mrs Holloman's eyes went wide and she gasped.

"How did you-"

"Lucky guess," Rose replied.

"Mrs Holloman," I continued. "When the man broke into your house…the first thing he did was attack your husband, wasn't it?"

"Y-yes," Mrs Holloman said. "And then he checked for a pulse and ran off to the safe."

Rose and I exchanged looks. "You're a Muggleborn, aren't you?" Rose asked.

"I – what do you mean?" Mrs Holloman asked.

"You gave him CPR, didn't you?" Rose replied. Mrs Holloman nodded. "And so the thief didn't know he wasn't – didn't know your husband was still alive when he stole the Sapphire."

"Not until the obituary," Mrs Holloman said. "We did so much good with that Sapphire…I hope the curse killed him."

"The man who stole it," I prompted. "The aurors said you couldn't identify him."

"He took polyjuice potion," she said. "He looked exactly like my husband. I'm sorry I can't be of more help to you, dears. May I ask why you want to know? Are you writing a piece on Richard?"

"Erm, no," I said. "The same man who stole the Sapphire from you and your husband killed my daughter. We're trying to find out who he was."

"Mrs Holloman, did your husband ever meet Peter Cartwright?" Rose asked.

"Of course," Mrs Holloman said. "They met at a function a few months before Richard's death. I believe he wanted to know what the secret to Richard's success was. Not that we told him, of course, but yes, they did meet. Why?"

We evaded the question and took our leave. Mrs Holloman offered me her condolences in the form of a pound cake and a tight hug. I vowed we would make sure no harm ever came to her or her family again, and then we were off.

"Well we know Cartwright ended up with the Sapphire," Rose said. "And he had occasion to steal Richard Holloman's hair."

"So that's two murders," I replied. "That's working pretty well for me towards destroying him."

"But Scorpius, the man's a saint in the public eye," Rose pointed out. "And if he's got the Sapphire again, which we have to assume he does, then he's got its influence as well. Two murders and he could wave it away saying they were possessed by demons or it was a necessary evil to better humankind into the utopian future he's so fond of peddling."

"Yeah, funny thing about people who try to achieve utopia," I grumbled. "It never really seems to work out."

"On the bright side, the sorts of people who would murder children to get a gemstone tend to have whole dungeons full of skeletons," Rose said, wrapping her arms around me in the most comforting way possible. She smelled like vanilla and orange blossoms.

"How do we find it, though?" I asked, falling into an armchair in the most aggravated way possible.

"We will," she said. "I promise."

She pressed her lips to the top of my head and then walked off to bed. I wasn't willing to admit it, but the only nights I didn't have nightmares were the nights when she slept in my bed with her arms around me.

It was with ill-grace that I slouched into work the next morning. Everyone had got me to agree to continue with my job until I went completely 'round the twist and had to be institutionalised, so I still had to keep up the pretence of being a productive member of both society and the criminal underworld.

I walked up to my office and was promptly stopped by my secretary.

"Erm, Mr Malfoy, there's someone in to see you," she said, looking apologetic. Our various staff members were generally aware of our illicit activities – my secretary had been in a bad place with her pimp and we had the bloke relocated – but most of them were not apprised of the Rachel/Angelica/Cartwright situation. Many of them knew I had a daughter and that something terrible had happened, but they weren't in on any of the details.

"Great, who is it?" I asked, sipping my coffee and taking off my winter coat.

"Erm…" my secretary said. Her name's Brandi, in case you were wondering. I don't know if that's the name she was born with, but it was certainly the name she had when we found her. She was one of the few who had overheard my suspicions about Cartwright. "That's the thing…"

"Who is it?" I asked, giving her a suspicious look and opening the door to my office.

Sitting in one of the chairs and looking deeply uncomfortable was Isobel Cartwright.

**Review!**


	16. Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies

**A/N: So it's my birthday! So naturally, I've spent it writing poorly constructed chapters of a fanfiction story...anyways, thanks to: Charlottembp, Tom, Azure, Sarnia Nereid, Blood and Dark Chocolate, blue21, Prunella7, hugo-automaton, MaebeSara, and Fionamoi. We're past 100 reviews now, guys! Which is more than the first two parts of this story combined! Hooray! (Sort of)**

Chapter Fifteen - Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer (To the Point of Compulsive Insanity) 

I had my wand out before I could stop myself. Isobel screamed when I blasted her against the wall. I barely noticed the terror in her eyes when I jammed my wand against her throat.

"Please," she managed to squeak. "I didn't do anything!"

My wand was building up a steady burn on her neck, but she looked honestly terrified.

"Yeah, well, a daughter for a daughter," I snarled.

"Please, I need your help," she begged, a single tear rolling out of the corner of her eye. Despite the fact she was about ten seconds from death, she still seemed annoyed that she was crying and wiped it away.

"What more could your family possibly want from me?" I demanded.

"It's my father," she said. I realised I could actually hear her heart beating a panicked staccato. "I think he's doing something illegal, but I don't know what."

You probably forgot this, since I told you a few hours ago, but the first night I met Isobel, she mentioned the fact her Muggle mother had discovered her father's magic and had taken Isobel and run off to the States. Isobel had hated it there and wanted nothing more than to live in the UK with her father. I somehow had the presence of mind to remember that when she mentioned her father's illicit activities, and I realised that for Isobel to accuse her father of something illegal she had to either be desperate or scared or both.

So I lowered my wand.

"You mean besides murdering people?" I asked.

"N-not besides," Isobel said, rubbing her throat gingerly and continuing to stare at me with scared eyes. "In addition to."

I frowned. "Who do you know that he murdered?"

"I don't have any proof," she mumbled. "But his last assistant – he died very mysteriously. And he was talking about finding something awful. He didn't manage to tell me what it was before he-"

She cut off, pressing the edge of her finger to her eye to keep herself from crying.

"Why would your father's assistant tell you if your father was up to something?" I asked, sulking to my desk and kicking it with slightly more force than necessary.

"He was my boyfriend," Isobel said. She sat down across from me shakily and started meticulously destroying the piece of paper in her hands. "Why don't you seem surprised that he might have killed someone? Everyone thinks he's spectacular."

"Because he stole the Seraphim Sapphire from Richard Holloman and murdered him to get it," I replied, sliding her the picture of Richard from the obituaries. "And then to break the curse, he hired my ex-girlfriend to steal it back, and when she wouldn't tell him where it was, he tortured her to insanity and killed our daughter."

Isobel looked like she might be sick. "I'm so sorry," she said. "If I had known, I would never have bothered you with it, but you're the only person I know with any sort of experience in illegality."

I realised that this could be the opportunity I needed to find every skeleton in his closet, so I bottled up my anger and left it far away.

"What did your boyfriend manage to tell you before he died?" I asked.

Isobel took a shaky breath. "He said that it was all a lie. He couldn't give me any specifics, but he was terrified. I think he found something he wasn't supposed to."

"What was all a lie?" I asked.

"Everything," Isobel said. "Every good thing my father's done. He said it was all a cover up."

"And you believed him?" I asked.

"Of course not," Isobel said. "And then he turned up dead."

We regarded each other across the desk for a moment.

"There's definitely something going on," Isobel continued. "As you apparently already know. I was hoping you could investigate it. I don't actually know what you do. I know you said you were in real estate but-"

"Your boyfriend was his personal assistant?" I asked. "Like the kind who take down his schedule and get him coffee and is privy to pretty much all details of his life?"

"Yes," Isobel replied. "But someone torched his apartment so there's no records or-"

"We don't need records," I assured her. "Since by my count, your dad is now missing an assistant."

OOooOOooOOooOO

"You're fucking insane," Em informed me when I shared my plan with everyone.

"Do you not remember what I said about actually being at my wedding?" Dom demanded.

"Mate, I'm not so sure about this…" Al said.

"It does seem like a remarkably stupid idea," Dylan agreed.

The four of them kept glaring at me like I'd actually gone crazy and then turned to Sam, Will, and Rose to back them up.

"I dunno," Sam said slowly. "Cartwright saw you when we lifted the Sapphire. We'd have to alter your appearance…"

"_That's_ your only objection?" Dom demanded, giving her fiancé an affronted look.

"And give you a fake backstory," Rose added. "He knows your name, after all."

I nodded in agreement and turned to Will to ask him to fix my face so I didn't look like myself. Before I could open my mouth, he narrowed his eyes at me.

"My only objection is that there's no way in all of fuck you're doing this alone," he said.

"Don't you even think about it, William Corner," Em commanded, sounding deeply pissed.

"Well, he needs some supervision," Rose replied. "Otherwise we'll have to talk him out of murder charges on point of insanity. Do you know how often that defence works?"

Everyone gave her blank stares.

"Not often," she said. "Although, frankly Will, I trust you not to murder Cartwright about as much as I trust Blondie."

"I'll go," Sam offered.

We all turned and stared.

"Wait…really?" I asked finally.

"Oh, Will's going too, but yeah," Sam said. He shrugged. "Fake identities should be fun, right?"

None of us had ever made a fake identity before. None of us had ever applied for a proper job before either, so we didn't know how in depth the background checks would be. Frankly, I think we went a bit overboard and might have gone too in depth, but if you ever feel the need to disappear and become someone else with a paper trail proving your new identity's existence, we are so totally your people for that.

We had to come up with names first, and we all decided to keep our same birthdays if not the year. We made Sam four years older so he was the same age as Dom, bumped Will up a year, and dropped me down two. We figured it would make more sense for a nineteen year old to be applying for the job of a PA than it would for someone who had been out of Hogwarts for more than a few years. Then we ran into a problem of falsifying our Hogwarts records. It was fairly easy to get our new birth certificates into circulation since we just had Al sneak them into the records' room in St Mungo's when he stopped by for his residency. But we had absolutely no reason to go to Hogwarts. All of our various family members had finished school, and Rose, Al, and Dom's eldest niece was only eight.

"Well, if one of us applied for a job there, we could always sneak the files into the records," Rose pointed out.

"Aside from the fact that none of us are remotely qualified to hold a teaching position, and McGonagall would laugh us out of the office before we could even finish our pitch?" Al replied.

"McGonagall retired last year," I said. "So whoever the newbie is, they don't know we've got our own drawer in the disciplinary section."

"But it would take them about five seconds to figure it out," Dom replied. "You need someone who wasn't associated with you lot at school."

Slowly, the seven of us turned to look at her pointedly. She flushed and sighed in defeat.

It was elected that Sam go with her to plant the files since he always got away with being the most trustworthy of us. It was a fair assessment, and they went off to Dom's job interview with three files worth of exam scores, end of year marks, OWL results, and the occasional disciplinary action regarding things like "sneaking out of bed to get hot chocolate at two in the morning" or "snogging in a broom cupboard." Absolutely no one ever made it out of Hogwarts without some sort of disciplinary record, so it would've been more suspicious if we hadn't put anything down.

No, don't lie to me McFarlane, you got detention for staggering drunkenly into the Forbidden Forest your seventh year.

It was easy to falsify our residence records, since we own more than a few apartment buildings, and for prior employment we were set since we could just have Cartwright ring up Dylan, Al, Rose, or Em and have them pretend to be our previous employers. Once our records were in place, we were left with the challenge of becoming different people.

"Just don't make me look like too big a geek," Will complained.

"You're the one doing the actual transfiguring," I reminded him. Will groaned and went about reshaping his nose and his eyes and his jaw. Since the only association Cartwright could possibly have of him was from Quidditch, he probably didn't have to do that much work to go unnoticed. Sam needed the least work, which was accomplished simply by making him blond and giving him an unhealthily skinny geek appearance. Sam tends to be of a stocky build, so he looked sort of funny.

I required the most editing.

Rose took charge – she let Will do the actual wand work, but she dictated it – and gave me brown hair. She made him change my eyes to green, narrow my jaw, and by the time they were done, I had facial features that vaguely resembled a fox. It was to the point where I could look in the mirror and honestly not recognise myself.

"Wait," Rose said before I could start heading out for my interview.

"What else?" I asked. She flicked her wand at me and suddenly everything was fuzzy. Only if I squinted very hard could I make out her face and she was standing a foot in front of me. She handed me a pair of glasses and when I put them on I could suddenly see again.

"Thanks," I replied.

Em, Dylan, and Al stopped us by the Floo.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Em asked, giving me a searching look like she couldn't quite comprehend why I would want to torture myself.

"Positive," I replied.

I stepped into the fireplace and gave it the address for Cartwright's office building. They had gone with a very modern style for the foundation's home. Everything was frosted glass and tasteful décor. The whole lobby was white with the sort of pale green accents you get in early spring. Despite the fact it was January, there were fresh flowers on the receptionist's desk, and an overwhelming sense of calm filled the room. If I hadn't known he was everything I hated, I would've really liked the aesthetic.

"Hello," I said, smiling at the receptionist. "I'm here for an interview?"

I did my best to seem sort of awkwardly charismatic. I drew on my experience pretending to be a semi-decent person when I had briefly worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"What's your name?" the receptionist asked, blinking at me in a flustered way.

"Trevor Marbury," I replied.

She flipped through her papers and then came across my entry. "You're interviewing for Mr Cartwright's personal assistant, correct?"

"That's the idea," I agreed, smiling at her again.

She got flustered all over again and gestured that I should have a seat. I sat in one of the stylish white chairs and hummed awkwardly to myself. I hadn't been sitting there long when the fireplace lit up and an unfamiliar man stepped out of the fireplace. I realised after a bit too long that it was Will. He introduced himself to the receptionist and she told him to take a seat as well. He nodded at me in subtle recognition and started thumbing through a magazine. Sam arrived moments later. He was told to take a seat and turned to introduce himself to me almost immediately.

"Rowan Evans," he said, shaking my hand. "What are you interviewing for?"

I took a long moment to try and figure out if he actually didn't remember it was me.

"Trevor Marbury," I replied slowly. "I'm going for Cartwright's personal assistant. You?"

Sam cottoned on at that moment and managed not to give himself away. "The research and development part of the company. Figured I'd patent a few charms and do some good in the world."

I nodded slowly and turned back to my silent waiting.

After half an hour, I was finally called back to my interview. To my surprise, it was with Cartwright himself. The moment I saw him sitting there, reviewing my résumé, his feet propped up on the edge of his desk I wanted to abandon the plan and strangle him with my bare hands. I wanted absolutely nothing else in the world, and then I remembered I might have the potential to actually destroy him. Not just kill the man responsible for three murders, and for torturing Rachel to a point of probably permanent instability. I might have the power to ruin him utterly.

And so I cleared my throat expectantly and stayed in the doorway with my hands clasped behind my back so I could keep him from seeing the fists my hands had balled themselves into.

"Ah," Cartwright said, putting my résumé down. "Marbury, isn't it?"

"Yes sir," I replied, managing to force a smile onto my face.

"Have a seat," he offered, nodding at one of the chairs opposite his desk. I sat. "So what house were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Gryffindor," I said. We had decided it would be sort of stupid to bullshit details about houses we hadn't been in. Since Cartwright was a Ravenclaw, there would have been no good way for me to make up stories about the house he'd attended. As you know, Ravenclaws are preferentially hired to positions that require intelligence, so it would've been the logical choice for a fake house.

"Good," Cartwright replied. "So what have you been doing since you finished school…"

"Two years ago," I answered. "Erm, not much. I've been assisting with the book keeping and the organisation at a small shop back home in the Cotswolds. I'm sort of neurotically organised."

"So what made you want to apply for this job?" he asked.

"Well, I want to help people," I said, probably the only honest thing I said in the entire interview. "But I'm sort of useless at most things besides filing and memorising dates, so I figured the best way I could go about helping people was by helping the bloke who helps everyone else."

I finished it with a sheepish smile.

"How are you with faces and useful information about people?" he asked.

"I never forget a face," I said. Every bone in my body was urging me to lunge across the desk and bash his face in, maybe club him to death with the humanitarian awards he had arranged modestly around his office. "I'm good with names as well."

Cartwright nodded. "What's the receptionist's name?"

"Lila," I replied, surprised that I had actually noticed. "She likes daisies and has a wealthy boyfriend."

Cartwright raised his eyebrow. "How do you know she's got a wealthy boyfriend?"

"Even the saintliest don't pay their receptionists enough to afford _that_ many diamonds," I replied with a shrug.

Cartwright laughed. "How do you feel about honesty?" he asked.

"It's the most important virtue," I lied. "You can't get anywhere without honesty."

"So would I be able to count on your honest opinion if I were to ask for it?" he asked.

"Of course, sir," I replied. "Would you ask for my opinion a lot?"

"Everyone's opinion matters, Marbury," he said. "My people will be in touch."

"Oh," I said, recognising my dismissal. I jumped to my feet. "Right. Thank you for your time, sir."

Cartwright nodded once in my direction and I bowed out. The lobby was empty now, Will and Sam long gone to their interviews. I smiled at Lila the receptionist and climbed into the fireplace before I whisked myself off home.

I made it to the kitchen before I managed to let out a shout of frustration. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet and pulled the cork out with my teeth before I took a long, long drink of it and sat down at the bar with the bottle pressed to my forehead.

By the time Rose found me, I was halfway to day drunk.

"It went that well, huh?" she asked, pulling the bottle away from me and replacing it with a glass of water.

"Oh the interview went great," I replied. I took a drink of the water and let my head fall forward onto the counter. My new glasses smashed into my nose and a sharp pain hit me directly in the sinuses. "I just hate myself."

"This was your idea, remember," she said gently.

"That's why I hate myself," I replied. "If this does work, and I do get the job, I seriously hope Sam and Will get theirs as well because otherwise there won't be any sort of policing force to keep me from strangling him with his own tie."

"Just remember that no one's going to believe us unless we find proof," Rose said.

"Us?" I repeated bleakly.

"Merlin, Blondie," she said with an eye-roll. "You've had friends for six years now. It's time to start remembering that you're not alone."

"Right," I mumbled. "Sorry."

"You'd also do well to remember that we're the sort of friends where if one of us gets hurt, the rest of us will react violently in opposition," she continued.

"Does murderous vengeance count as 'hurt'?" I asked, reaching for the whiskey again. Rose kept it out of my grasp.

"We already have one recovered alcoholic in this house. We don't need a burgeoning one as well," she said.

"But Rose, if I actually get this job, then I'm going to seriously need to become an alcoholic just so I can get through it," I replied. "If I'm physically numb enough I won't be able to control my limbs strongly enough to commit murder."

She blinked at me emotionlessly. "You have terrifying logic."

"Can I go issue your brother another death threat? Just to make it feel like I'm doing something?" I asked. I didn't wait for her response. "Actually, I think I will anyways."

I stood up, fully intent to go threaten Hugo's livelihood, but the moment I put weight on my feet I fell over.

"Come on," Rose said, helping me up and steering me towards the stairs.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked as she draped my arm over her shoulders so she could help me walk.

"Because I'm your friend," she replied, attempting to blow her fringe out of her eyes. Since she had one arm around my waist and was using the other to keep my arm around her shoulders, she didn't have the hands necessary. I managed to brush her hair out of her eyes without too much difficulty.

"Yeah, but we're also the sorts of friends who are dicks to each other," I pointed out. "All of us."

"Not when it actually matters," Rose replied as we sidled sideways through my bedroom door. She dropped me on my bed and I caught her around the waist and dragged her down with me. "Scorpius, I still have things to do today."

"Please stay," I mumbled.

"Why?" she asked, trying and failing to sound irritated.

"Because that's the only time I don't have nightmares," I mumbled, very nearly asleep. I heard her sigh in defeat.

We woke with a start in the pre-dawn hours to discover we had slept on top of all the blankets and that it was freezing in my room.

"I should go back to my room," Rose said, starting to get up.

"Please don't," I requested.

"You're still drunk, aren't you?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Now I'm just pathetic. It's slightly different."

Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she grudgingly lay back down, crawling under the covers. I did the same and started to fall back to sleep almost immediately, my head on her stomach, her arms around me.

"You know if you keep this up, I'm going to start making you buy me dinner first," she muttered.

"Deal," I agreed.

In the morning, I woke again when the weak January sunlight started filtering through the crack in my curtains. During the last few hours, we had shifted so she had her back pressed against me. She had her fingers laced through mine and was sleeping peacefully. Rose isn't exactly a peaceful person, so it was a pleasant sight. Just a single curl had fallen across her face and I lightly brushed it aside. I think it was the feeling of my fingers across her skin that woke her up. She rolled over without breaking out of my grasp and stared at me with her beautiful chocolate eyes. I couldn't tell what emotions were cycling through either of us at that moment. But I found myself glancing between her eyes and her lips. I started to tilt my head forwards. We were close enough that I could feel her breath on my mouth. Both our eyes fluttered shut and –

And the door burst open.

"Merlin's balls," I heard myself exclaim, partially due to the adrenaline that had decided now was a great time to send my heart rate skyrocketing.

"Rose, what are you doing in here?" Al asked, sounding confused and not even slightly apologetic for waking us up or interrupting things.

"Waking up abruptly," Rose replied in an annoyed tone. Whatever moment might have been about to happen was now definitely gone.

"Right," Al said, sounding like he didn't believe her. "Anyways, Scor, I still don't know if I necessarily approve of this plan, but either way, you got the job."

"I did?" I asked, sitting up and turning to stare at him.

"They want you to come in and fill out paperwork," Al said.

"When?" Rose asked.

"As soon as possible," Al replied.

I jumped out of bed and headed for a shower, only to discover my face had gone back to normal. I grumbled.

When I returned to my room with naught but a towel around my waist, I discovered belatedly that Rose was still in my bed. She raised her eyebrow at me.

"When do you find time to work out?" she asked, eyeing my bare torso curiously.

I shrugged and started rooting around in my wardrobe for clothes that Trevor Marbury might wear on a daily basis. Most of my clothes were a bit too expensive to even pretend to belong to a theoretically broke nineteen year old. I realised I was going to have to fix that and settled on the least obviously expensive clothes I owned.

"You're just going to lie there while I get dressed, aren't you?" I asked.

Rose rolled her eyes. "You see me in my underwear all the time," she replied.

"I'm not wearing underwear," I said. She shrugged as though to indicate she was going nowhere, so I shrugged and dropped my towel. Rose's eyebrow crept higher.

"So how nerve-wracking was it to get that Loch Ness Monster tattoo?" she asked.

"Very," I replied. I pulled on my clothes. "I'm going to go get Will to fix my face now."

"You do that," she said, and I noticed a slight pink tinge on her cheeks before I stepped into the corridor. "Blondie, don't forget your glasses!"

I turned back around and snatched them off my bedside table, bid Rose a good day and went off to find Will.

* * *

"You got yourself hired as Cartwright's personal assistant?" McFarlane asked in a semi-horrified voice. "The man who theoretically killed three people including your own daughter?"

"I did," I agreed. "You know the phrase, right? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?"

"That seems a bit excessive," McFarlane replied. "That seems a lot excessive, actually."

I shrugged. "Well, it worked. I got my proof."

"You did?" McFarlane asked. "When? What is it?"

"You'll have it in a bit," I replied.

"Yes, but when did you get it?" McFarlane repeated.

"Erm…two weeks ago?" I approximated.

McFarlane gaped at me. "You've been Cartwright's personal assistant for almost two full years?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Does he know who you really are?" McFarlane asked.

"Not yet," I said. "And he won't just yet either. And since I know Peter Cartwright better than most people on the planet, please believe me when I tell you this goes way beyond Angelica, or Richard Holloman, or his previous assistant."

"It does?" McFarlane asked, sounding horrified.

"It does," I assured him.

"How far beyond?" McFarlane asked, still looking scandalised.

"We're getting to that part," I said.

**Review!**


	17. When Your Best Friends Are All in Love

**A/N: I apologise for the short chapter. I'm half asleep and figured I should cut my losses while I could still type. Thanks for all the nice birthday wishes! Also, thanks for reviewing: Blood and Dark Chocolate, Tom, District 9 3-4, Prunella7, Sarnia Nereid, Twisky, MaebeSara, Fionamoi, Azure, blue21, KeishaM, hugo-automaton, charlottembp, and FairyLightsAndGlitter. You guys rock. **

Chapter Sixteen - When Your Best Friends Are All in Love and You Just Stand There with an Umbrella to Keep the Mushiness Away

"You look…plain," Rose informed me, brushing off the shoulders of my button down shirt. There was no cause for me to wear a suit jacket and frankly, I felt sort of naked.

"Is that a good thing?" I asked.

Things had been awkward since the almost kiss. There was still the fact that it was Rose and her definitions of personal space are deeply flawed by normal standards, but at the same time, for her she was standing far away while she straightened my shirt.

"You look normal," she explained.

"Do I not look normal on a regular basis?" I asked.

"You know what I mean," she said with an annoyed groan as she stepped back.

"No, I really don't," I said. "Perhaps you could explain?"

"Enjoy your day at work," she replied, giving me a slightly malicious smile and shoving me towards the Floo.

My first day had been awkward. I got my own desk – a sham and an approximation of a proper desk – that was entirely devoid of everything except a day planner that contained Cartwright's schedule and a few pens, and I spent most of the day taking his food orders and getting him coffee.

I hold a position of power in my actual job. The only person I'm below is Rose – I'm below Rose a lot, actually, sorry anyways – and I don't usually have to answer for anything. I get to take coffee breaks when I want to. If I feel like pissing off for a week, I can.

It is not that way at Cartwright Incorporated. I actually have to let someone know if I want to go get lunch, and I have to give them advance notice of vacation time, and it's sort of annoying. I'll be glad to be shot of it.

I had been there for a week when suddenly someone turned up without an appointment.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to make an appointment and come back later," I informed the balding, short man who was smoking a cigar in my desk area.

"Boy, do you know who I am?" Ellison asked.

It was nice that there was proof my disguise was working, at least.

"Erm…no, sorry," I replied. "If you leave your name, I can check Mr Cartwright's schedule and-"

"I'm not a scheduling man," Ellison informed me, blowing a cloud of smoke at me. I coughed and didn't flinch, which he had clearly been expecting.

"That's nice, sir, but Mr Cartwright is, so if you could leave me your information, we'll have our people get in touch with you and-"

"I'm Daniel Ellison, boy," he snapped, getting far too close and growling. His cigar smoke was clouding my glasses. "Do you know what I do to smart ass bastards like you?"

"I haven't the slightest," I replied, leaning back slightly.

"Have you ever had your feet cased in cement? And then been thrown into a river?" Ellison asked. "Because I have a whole watery graveyard of boys like you."

"Isn't that illegal, sir?" I asked in a chipper voice. I picked up my day planner. "Mr Cartwright has a free lunch on Tuesday if you'd like to meet him then. I can pencil you in for one?"

"Do you not understand me, boy?" Ellison asked. "There is a lovely Muggle device called a battery. You keep this up and I'll have my men attach a battery to your balls and fry them off with the electrical current."

I blinked at him in my most simplistic manner. "What's electricity?"

Before Ellison could threaten any other parts of my anatomy, Cartwright walked out of the office. "Marbury, did you get those files from HR?"

"Yes, sir," I said, handing him the files. "This gentleman would like to schedule an appointment. I told him lunch on Tuesday was free."

Cartwright noticed Ellison for the first time. "Oh, Mr Ellison," he said, shaking his hand. "I didn't see you there. What's this about?"

"I just wanted to make sure we weren't going to have any trouble regarding the acquisition of those warehouses in the river district," Ellison said. "But your bloody ponce of a secretary-"

"Assistant," I piped up helpfully with a beatific smile at both of them.

Yes, McFarlane. I do actually make a hobby out of pissing off Daniel Ellison.

"He wanted me to wait until Tuesday," Ellison continued, giving me a glare that said he clearly wished me ill.

"Oh," Cartwright said. He actually looked nervous around Ellison. I managed not to snicker. "Well, that won't be necessary. Trevor, hold my calls."

"Yes sir," I agreed, going back to doodling aimlessly on a piece of paper.

When I got home that night, I waited for my face to fade back to normal and pulled on my usual clothes with haste.

"Where are you going, Blondie?" Rose asked.

I grinned at her in what was probably a manic way. "I'm going to go fuck with Ellison," I replied.

"You just like playing with fire, don't you?" she asked.

"Once you start juggling knives, you can't stop or you'll cut yourself," I replied before I fell sideways into the Floo and spun into Ellison's office. He jumped in surprise and I found myself staring down the business end of two of his bodyguards' wands.

"Malfoy," he said, nodding at me.

"Danny," I replied easily, lounging in one of his armchairs. "What's this I hear about you giving one of my boys a hard time?"

"One of your boys?" Ellison asked.

"Trevor Marbury," I replied. "Peter Cartwright's personal assistant."

"He's one of yours?" Ellison asked, looking nonplussed. "Bloody idiot didn't even know who I was."

"He's new," I explained. "We'll have a talk with him about proper deference and respect. So these warehouses you're plotting on with Cartwright…"

"He's buying property from me," Ellison replied. "It's none of your business."

"I'll pay you twice what he's giving you," I said.

"Why?" Ellison asked, looking confused.

I gave him a small, evil smile. "I have a personal score to settle with Peter Cartwright, and anything I can do to inconvenience him makes me very happy," I replied.

"He's a bloody saint," Ellison replied. "No business with men like us. I'll give you the warehouses for one and a half what Cartwright's offering."

I nodded in agreement and signed the ownership papers before I arranged to send one of our henchmen out to Gringotts to get the money.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Danny," I said, tipping an imaginary hat at him and his bodyguards. I stepped into the Floo and returned to the house.

Rose was standing there tapping her foot and looking annoyed. "What exactly were you doing with Daniel Ellison this time?"

"Cartwright was planning on buying some warehouses so I bought them first," I replied in a chipper tone.

"We don't have any use for them, Blondie," she said. She paused for a moment. "I suppose we could expand our confiscated artefacts inventory to larger goods rather than trinkets…"

"I hear there's a dealer for those in Australia," Dylan piped up, wandering by. "Cabinets and sofas and the like. I heard of one bloke who actually had a whole cursed house sent over."

Rose and I stared at him for a while.

"Why would you buy a cursed house?" Rose asked finally.

"Hey, I don't know the bloke's mind," Dylan replied. "He just…wanted a cursed house I guess."

"Huh," I said. "So what are you up to tonight?"

Dylan shrugged. "I think I'm going to get an early night."

"Oh," I replied. "Well, see you tomorrow then."

Dylan lifted his hand in salutation and carried on up the stairs towards his room.

Rose had just opened her mouth to say something else when Al spun into view in the fireplace. He wrenched off his tie and shed his external pale blue Healer's robes – he was doing his residency at the time – before he sighed in exasperation.

"I am going to sleep," he announced. "My day – I can't even begin – dragon pox. Who the fuck has dragon pox in this day and age? It's the fucking twenties. It's barely the twenties. It's almost the thirties. Who for fuck's sake is still acquiring dragon pox?"

He continued to mutter to himself while he walked up the stairs. Rose and I stared after him with matching contemplative looks.

"You don't think…" I started, crossing my arms and stroking my chin pensively.

"No," Rose said, her arms crossed as well while we continued to frown at the place Dylan and Al had disappeared.

"But if we were to conveniently find ourselves in the hall between their rooms at, say, three in the morning…" I continued.

"Right," Rose agreed. "I'm sure there would be no reason why either of them would be in the hallway, but, just in case maybe…"

Because we're nosy, we managed to acquire a thermos of tea and camped out in the middle of the hallway between their rooms.

"Are you feeling any better these days?" Rose asked quietly around midnight.

"It's only been four months," I replied. "Am I supposed to be feeling better?"

"I dunno," Rose said. "Losing someone is new territory for all of us. We liked having her here, too, you know. We all did. Even the two gay guys who don't want children ever."

I nodded, unable to say anything in response.

"I guess Rachel named her right, even if it was for the wrong reasons," Rose said. "She was angelic."

"Yeah, she was," I agreed, swallowing back the burning sensation behind my eyes.

"I'm sorry," Rose said in a rush. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," I replied. Rose crossed the hall and sat down next to me before she pulled me sideways so my head was in her lap. It was very pleasant to have my face pressed against her thighs while she ran her fingers through my hair. I almost fell asleep, actually, and then she very gently shook me awake.

"What?" I asked groggily. She tilted her head towards Dylan's bedroom door, which was creaking open. Al stepped out of it as stealthily as possible and shut the door with the softest of clicks. He turned and took one step down the hallway before he noticed us.

"Erm…" he started. "I just – I just dropped by to borrow a razor and-"

He blushed furiously and looked awkward when Rose and I raised one eyebrow at him a piece.

"It was just a one off thing," he assured us with a nervous laugh.

Rose and I didn't react until the door opened again to reveal Dylan, shirtless and highly rumpled. He snaked his hands around Al's waist.

"I was thinking that maybe you could just…stay the night," he whispered, kissing the side of Al's neck. Then he noticed us and his eyes went wide and he turned bright pink.

"Rose and Scorpius have apparently felt the need to camp out in the corridor," Al informed him in a stilted tone.

"Urban camping," I said with a shrug.

"There is nothing urban in our house," Rose replied. "The nearest place to pretend towards urban is Gloucester."

"Technically I think Cheltenham might be closer," I said.

"Well, and I suppose there's Stroud, but it really depends on what you're counting as urban," Rose continued.

"Well since this particular cat is out of the bag," Dylan said. He started backing into his room, his arms still around Al. "We'll just be going to bed now."

Al grinned sheepishly at us and they closed the door.

"We should probably go to bed too," I said, standing up and running my hand through my hair.

"Right," Rose agreed. "Goodnight."

"G'night," I echoed, heading up the stairs to my room.

OOooOOooOOooOO

Cartwright was in fine form the next day.

"What's wrong, sir?" I asked, handing him his coffee and the daily reports he was supposed to read.

"I had a business transaction with that man who was in yesterday – the one without an appointment – and a snake in the grass thief snuck in and stole our deal," Cartwright replied, accepting his coffee and the reports and sitting down at his desk.

"What sort of snake in the grass thief?" I asked, playing stupid and innocent at the same time.

I got really, really good at playing stupid these past two years.

"His name is Malfoy," Cartwright replied. "He stole something very valuable from me once and now, apparently, has made it his goal in life to annoy me."

"That's highly unfortunate," I said, doing my utmost not to scream that he had stolen something valuable from me as well. "What did he steal?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Trevor?" he asked. He took a sip of his coffee. "This is quite good, by the way."

"Thank you sir," I said, with my best sycophant smile. "What secret?"

"I had the Seraphim Sapphire," he admitted.

My jaw dropped while I pretended to be surprised. "You did? But don't you die within a year if you take it?"

"I never took it," Cartwright lied. He sounded very genuine, but Peter Cartwright's acting abilities are almost flawless, so I shouldn't have been surprised. "It's been in my family for generations."

"Really?" I asked.

"It was Ravenclaw's, you know," he said. "It's said that only someone with Ravenclaw's knowledge could break the curse."

I knew for a fact that it was true, but we had never found any sort of information like that in our seven months of trying to break the curse.

"Where is that said?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Ravenclaw's personal notes," Cartwright replied. "They've also been in my family for generations."

That I could believe, unlike the Sapphire.

You learn a lot about a person while you're acting as their personal assistant. For example, Cartwright takes his coffee black with two sugars. He absolutely cannot stand Italian food – never trust someone who doesn't like pizza, McFarlane – and only buys vintage bottles of wine. Also, he's got some sort of anxiety problem where if things aren't _just_ _so_, it ruins his whole day. Like, if someone who isn't Daniel Ellison shows up without an appointment, or if he receives a memo written in any colour besides black, if someone mis-formats a memo, and if things aren't perfectly symmetrical.

Naturally, I've spent the past two years making sure all these things happen with alarming regularity. I almost always make sure my glasses are crooked, and when I do, he can't even stand to look at my face because it bothers him so much.

"So, Mr Cartwright?" I asked one night in February near closing.

"Yes, Trevor?" he replied, signing the last paperwork that required his signature.

"How did you get your start?" I asked. "As a philanthropist?"

"Well, I don't know if you know this, but I've been married twice," he started. I did know, but it wasn't common knowledge, so I just gave him a wide-eyed stare instead of saying anything. "My first wife, we met when we were young and poor. We had just come out of the second Wizarding War, and she was this beautiful American exchange student going to a Muggle university here in London. Naturally, I couldn't violate the International Statute of Secrecy, so I couldn't tell her about magic. But despite the secrets I had to keep, we still ran away together and got married and when our daughter was born, I couldn't keep it to myself anymore and I told her about the Wizarding world. It terrified her so much that she divorced me and took our daughter with her back to the States. You can't imagine the pain of losing a child, Trevor."

"No, I can't," I managed to say through clenched teeth. The pressing desire to strangle him with his own tie was all consuming.

"And so after I lost Isobel and Stacy – my first wife – I realised that Muggles and the Wizarding community have a terrible relationship," he continued. "We have all this extra knowledge and extra power and we don't do anything to help those who are less fortunate than us. I understand that it's hard to do without breaking the Statute, but I couldn't just sit idly by and do nothing while the Muggles suffered around us. So I started my foundation to do our best to interface between the two worlds. We can't pretend that one doesn't affect the other. We're all citizens of the planet and it's time we start acting like it."

"Thank you, sir," I said, practicing my new technique of swallowing my anger and replacing it with a vacant smile.

I went home by apparating to the road outside our wall mostly so I could walk outside in the frigid cold without my jacket and so I could slam the front door so hard it rattled the glass in the windows.

In the kitchen where I kept the whiskey, I discovered Al and Dylan sitting at the bar with twenty different pieces of cake in front of them. Before they noticed me, Al wiped a smudge of frosting off one piece and offered his frosting covered finger to Dylan.

"Here, taste this one," he suggested. Obligingly, Dylan sucked the frosting off Al's finger. Before it could go any further, I cleared my throat loudly.

"Sorry, Scor," they said, leaning away from each other and looking embarrassed. Neither had seen fit to inform anyone else that they were sleeping together again. They insisted they weren't dating again, but rather, they were lonely and horny and after all, they did know each other well enough to understand how to have decent sex, and really, it was just a social transaction that Rose and I would do well not to read too much into.

"Dom instructed us to try cakes out for her," Al explained.

"Okay," I said, grabbing my mostly empty bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and edging out of the kitchen to give them space to do whatever it was they were doing.

On my way up the stairs to my office – I've been working two jobs the past two years, both full time – I passed Em and Will. Will was grovelling while Em had her hands on her hips. He still hadn't quite got his act together about proposing properly and had yet to produce a ring. Now, Em was refusing to marry him until she lost the weight from the baby, made more difficult by the fact she hadn't actually had the kid yet.

After I passed them, I had to walk past Dom and Sam, who were staring out a window into the garden with their arms around each other. They were planning on getting married in the spring so the flowers would be in full bloom. And I was walking around like a grumpy curmudgeon because everyone I cared about was getting married, or in a committed relationship, or starting something new and I was in a committed relationship with revenge.

I didn't quite realise that Cartwright had actually given me all the information I needed that day. He had told me everything I would ever need to know in order to understand the things he did. But I was too distracted by the fact he was able to look someone in the eye and lament the loss of a daughter that he eventually got back when he was responsible for the murder of someone else's child. I still don't understand how he manages to act all cut up about the fact that Isobel's mother took Isobel away even though Isobel eventually came back, while not caring that he killed my daughter. If I hadn't been intent on destroying him before, I certainly was from that moment on.

**Review!**


	18. Nothing Says Fun Like Two Weddings

**A/N: And back to long chapters. I think you guys might like this one. As an aside, watching movies about serial killers at one in the morning is a really poor choice...Thanks for reviewing: Fionamoi, Blood and Dark Chocolate, Sarnia Nereid, Prunella7, MaebeSara, Azure, Tom, and charlottembp. You guys are pretty awesome. **

Chapter Seventeen - Nothing Says Fun Like Two Weddings and Murderous Rage

Days started blurring together. Cartwright's daily schedule consisted of arriving at work at 9, acquiring coffee provided by yours truly, reading the daily reports from the R&D department, HR, and the people who were actually responsible for Muggle outreach. Muggle Studies is a requirement for the position and they're a group of bright eyed, bushy tailed, do-gooders who I would swear on everything holy are possessed, except that I tried slipping holy water into the coffee pot once and no one went up in smoke.

Cartwright grew fond of offering me unsolicited advice. He just pops by my desk every so often and says things like, "Trevor, never glare at someone when you could smile instead. No matter how much they're hurting you."

"Right you are sir," I replied with a smile so he couldn't tell quite how much I wanted him dead.

"Trevor, never make enemies you don't have to make, and never burn bridges that you might need to use again later."

"Trevor, if you can help someone less fortunate than yourself, even if they're only less fortunate by a hair, you should help them."

"I'm nineteen, I live just outside Knockturn Alley, and I make three hundred galleons a month," I replied. "What sort of less fortunate people will I be running into?"

"Now, Trevor," he said in a patronising tone. "If you need a raise, negotiate it with HR."

And then he floated off with a saintly smile.

"Everything about him is fake," I ranted, drinking deeply from my whiskey bottle. I considered the label for a moment. "You know, on my salary at Cartwright Incorporated, I couldn't even afford to drink this stuff."

"That's because you drink the most expensive whiskey they sell," Sam pointed out. "And go through approximately two bottles a week."

I shrugged and took another drink.

"But what really drives me crazy is the fact he's always telling me to help the less fortunate, and yet he does nothing to help Trevor Marbury who is _much_ less fortunate than Cartwright, except to offer sage turns of phrase that mean absolutely nothing," I continued.

"Scorpius, sit still or the tailor is going to pin you in the leg," Dom replied, idly flipping a page in her bridal magazine.

So, I know you've been divorced for a few years, and I know you've never married a Veela before, but it doesn't matter how much Veela blood they've got, the minute you get them near a wedding, they're fucking terrifying.

* * *

"How much do you know about me?" McFarlane asked.

I considered. "You've got a thing for the woman a few cubicles down from you, partially because she doesn't remind you of either of your ex-wives, and creepily because she reminds you ever so slightly of your mother," I replied. "Also, you should definitely go for it because she wants you. Frankly, I think she's fixing to be the future ex-Mrs McFarlane."

McFarlane blinked at me forlornly and I grinned.

"We've done our background research on you, McFarlane," I replied. "Do you mind if I call you Davan?"

"Yes," he said. "I do mind."

I rolled my eyes. "You realise you're talking to the man who calls Daniel Ellison 'Danny' just to piss him off, right?"

"Yes, well, you've got a bloody death-wish," McFarlane replied. "That's not my fault."

I shrugged. "Fair enough."

* * *

Sam and Dom's wedding was encroaching with alarming speed and before I knew it, it was April and we were setting up the garden for their nuptials. They had decided to get married at sunset and had strung fairy lights through all the trees and we had got Frank to spend a week working Herbology magic on all the flowers so they were in full bloom. Of course, this is still England and it was April, so Sam cast an invisible rain shield across the entire area. It was absolutely beautiful.

Dom dragged her sister Victoire and Lucy, our club manager, to be her bridesmaids besides Rose and Em. Em protested heartily since she was eight months pregnant and insisted her dress made her look fat, but Dom refused point blank to take no for an answer. The four of them went out for their hen night a few days before the wedding and even though it was a year and a half ago, none of them will tell us what they got up to. Whenever one of us brings it up, the girls just giggle and start whispering together and then run off laughing.

Our stag night was less than eventful since there was the problem that Dom and Em would murder Sam and Will if strippers got involved in any way, and Dylan and Al had absolutely no interest in them. At least not the kind that the rest of us could support. This meant we ended up in the club playing exploding snap until about two in the morning. Everyone except Al played it as a drinking game where you had to take a shot when the cards exploded. This meant that Al had to pretty much carry the lot of us back to the house. He got to turn Will and Em over to their respective women the moment we got back and then had to manoeuver Dylan and me up the stairs. Dylan was drunk enough that the moment he landed on his bed, he grabbed Al by the belt and insisted that Al stay. I staggered out before Dylan could jam his hands down Al's trousers, but only just.

The morning of the wedding dawned grey and rainy, but no one let that be an issue. I threw on my dress robes as early as possible so I could help manage the steady influx of Weasleys that started at approximately eight in the morning when Gran Weasley turned up, insisting on using our kitchen to help with the catering. She would listen to absolutely no protests that it was already being catered and went to work baking immediately. Enticed by the smells of the kitchen, Sam wandered in not ten minutes later and the two of them proceeded to spend a good three hours talking about cooking until Will finally wrangled Sam and dragged him off to be mentally prepared for the fact he was about to get married.

Sam was instantly replaced in the kitchen by his own father – Mr Baker the baker – who got on famously with Gran Weasley.

The guests who turned up early were kept entertained by our pygmy puffs, who had decided it was for the best if they joined forces between their colour separations to put on a synchronised show. They spent most of the day weaving out intricate patterns on the floor of the den that appeared to depict an epic struggle by the pygmy puff hero of legend.

"Who trained them to do this?" Teddy Lupin asked, watching them with a bewildered and deeply amused look.

"No one," I replied. "They just sort of…picked it up. They have a full judiciary system, you know. They put puffs on trial and have a court of appeals and get tried by a jury of their peers. Of course they also have gladiatorial matches for crimes of honour, but…"

Teddy gave me a questioning look. "Are you in some sort of pygmy puff study?"

"No, I'm in real estate," I replied. "It's just a hobby."

Teddy nodded slowly and then went off to find his children who had wandered away. The youngest was three and had bleach blonde ringlets that formed a halo around her face. He scooped her up and she kissed him on the cheek and I had to go find a quiet dark corner in which to block out the memories. Dom would've killed me if I had burst out crying at her wedding because her niece resembled my daughter. Well, no, she would've understood, but she wouldn't have been happy with me.

Fortunately, I managed to collect myself in time for the ceremony. I was to escort Lucy down the aisle before we took our places at the head of the ceremony. Once we were all assembled, Rose winked at me and I managed to smile back.

The ceremony went perfectly and then it was the reception. There was a fuzzy moment when Clive Ahearn – he was only invited because he was one of Dom's teammates – tried to hit on Al and Dylan punched him in the face. Dylan was already slightly drunk at that point, and Clive didn't take it well. Those assembled took it quite well, however, when Al's response was to snog Dylan in the middle of the dance floor.

"Oh thank goodness," Mrs Abramson enthused, squeezing Ginny Potter's hand. "I thought we were going to have to sit through uncomfortable Christmases forever!"

The two women ran off to bubble excitedly at each other over their respective sons.

I think I danced with just about everyone before I finally couldn't stand anymore and collapsed onto a chair at the periphery of our ballroom. Moments later, Rose fell into the chair next to me.

"Do you know, Scorpius Malfoy," she started. She was slightly intoxicated, but then, so was I. "You're the only man to ever reject me."

I stared at her with a frown on my face. "I never rejected you," I said.

"You did!" she insisted. "I told you I fancied you and you told me I didn't."

"And then I kept snogging you anyways," I pointed out. "Rose, that was…four years ago. What's got into you?"

"But I asked you to have sex with me and you said no," she continued. Nearby, her father fell out of his chair in shock. We glanced over at him. Hermione grimaced apologetically at us and shuffled him off to the Floo. Most everyone was gone by that point. Sam and Dom had taken their Portkey off to the south of France for their honeymoon. Will and Em had turned in for the night hours prior since Em was feeling excessively pregnant. Dylan and Al had stumbled off to bed not that long ago and were undoubtedly having sex.

"No, I said you were drunk," I informed her.

She frowned at me. "Then why haven't we had sex?"

"Because, Rose Weasley, you fell asleep," I said. She blinked.

"Well that's silly," she decided. I shrugged. "Walk me to bed."

I stood up and offered her my hand, pulling her to her feet. She wrapped her arm around my waist and we stumbled up the stairs together, stopping outside her bedroom door. It somehow ended up that she had her back to the door while I stood in front of her. I couldn't fail to notice that the lavender bridesmaids dresses Dom had picked out were quite flattering.

"Goodnight, Scor," Rose said, stretching on her toes and lightly kissing me on the lips. I blinked once or twice in shock.

"Goodnight, Rosie," I replied, leaning down and kissing her just as lightly.

We stared at each other with slightly perturbed looks and then suddenly I had my hand on her leg, hiking it around my hips while she wrapped one arm around my shoulders. We kissed desperately as though I was drowning and she was oxygen while she groped behind her to open the door to her room and we stumbled through, tearing each other's clothes off. She pulled the pins out of her hair and it fell in wild curls across her shoulders, recently rendered bare when I pulled off her dress. She wasted no time in divesting me of my robes with a flick of her wand. I was unsurprised to find that her knickers were scarlet lace. I was also unsurprised that they looked a whole hell of a lot better on her floor than they did on her. She traced most of my tattoos with her tongue and let me pull her stockings off with my teeth, gasping slightly when I left a hickey on the inside of her thigh. I sort of left them everywhere, come to think of it, but-

* * *

"Did you hear that?" McFarlane demanded. There had been an angry thud from the ceiling. I knew immediately it was Rose taking issue with my more detailed than was strictly necessary account of the first time we'd shagged.

"Must be old pipes," I speculated. "I mean, honestly. This building is how old?"

"Fair enough," McFarlane replied, giving me an awkward look.

"Hey, you're the one who said 'everything,'" I pointed out.

* * *

We woke up hung over and glued together with dried sweat.

"Morning," Rose mumbled, the side of her face plastered to my chest.

"So that happened," I replied, realising my hand was on her hip and that my fingers were much closer to her than was polite.

"It did," she agreed. "Funny things happen when you're drunk, I suppose."

"I was not the only one drunk last night," I replied.

"I meant 'you' as a sort of plural," she said. She peeled her face off my chest and pulled herself away from me. "I'm going to go take a shower, then."

"Sounds like a plan," I replied, floundering around for my clothes.

I watched her walk naked to her bathroom and then pulled on my pants and collected my clothes so I could lurk shamefully back to my room. I was on the stairs when I ran into Em.

She raised her eyebrow at me and looked me over briefly before she spared me a judgmental look and continued downstairs.

Things returned to normal then. Rose and I sort of avoided each other whenever we could, but managed to act like absolutely nothing had happened whenever we were around everyone else. As far as I was concerned, it was a distraction and I didn't want anything to distract me from figuring out how I was going to prove that Peter Cartwright had murdered my daughter.

In early May, Sam and Dom returned from their honeymoon with stupid grins on their faces and then disappeared back to their room. When I say they returned, I really only mean they physically transported themselves from France back to England, because they sure as shit didn't break out of the honeymoon phase until, like, last month.

In late May, Em and Will had their daughter Violette. They immediately decided that I would be the best babysitter they could ever find, and I had absolutely no trouble agreeing with them. The most confusing thing about Violette is that she managed to inherit blue eyes from my aunt Daphne and from Will's dad. Both Em and Will have brown eyes, but Violette decided to eschew this. The pygmy puffs decided that since she happens to be the same colour as chocolate buttons, they would love nothing more than to be with her always. Every morning, whoever goes to get her up has to dust ten or twelve pygmy puffs off her because they sneak into her cot at night and form a living, purring blanket. I decided not to mention to anyone else that they had done the same thing to Angelica. I think it's at least partially because both of them are or were related to me.

Will proposed to Em the moment she woke up from giving birth. She opened her eyes and he was there on one knee. She swore she wasn't going to marry him until she lost the weight from Violette. They got married in August that year.

"And we continue to be the only single people in our group of friends," Rose said, watching the photographer snap pictures of Will and Em and Violette in their wedding finery.

"I'm in a committed relationship with revenge," I replied.

"You're twenty-two," Rose informed me. "What are you going to do after you get your revenge?"

I shrugged. "Ruin Daniel Ellison's hold on all properties in the UK and take over his international sector as well. Unless it takes me long enough to get revenge that Ellison's already keeled over dead by the time I get around to it. Although, frankly, I think I scare his brother…"

Rose frowned at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't you think you're a bit young to plan on spending the rest of your life on revenge?" she asked.

"Spending the rest of Ellison's life on revenge," I corrected. "And no, I mean, I'm practically the Count of Monte Cristo."

"Come on," she said, grabbing me by the hand and leading me onto the dance floor. Em's bridesmaids – Rose, Dom, and Al – had been coerced into blue. Al managed to escape the dress requirement, though, and was only wearing a navy tie. Dylan had insisted that it brought out his eyes very early in the evening, and none of us had seen them since.

"Doesn't it just remind you of back at Hogwarts when they were dating?" I asked. "How every third second we had to remind them they were in public and it did not do to have them groping each other under the dinner table?"

"They only did that once, and Al was very drunk at the time," Rose replied.

"But do you remember the look on that third year's face when he figured out what was going on?" I asked.

"He was so horrified," Rose agreed. "Which is funny, since I definitely came across him the next year when he was getting the same treatment. He wasn't so horrified then."

"I should hope not," I replied.

"Not that you ever got any action at Hogwarts," she pointed out.

"Hey, I did snog Will's little sister once," I said, nodding a few tables over to where Eloise Corner was playing with Violette.

"Really?" Rose asked.

"She was trying to piss Will off," I explained. "I had very little choice in the matter."

Rose thought this was funny and I almost laughed in agreement.

"You know, I think that's the first time I've heard you come close to laughing in a year," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, there hasn't been much to laugh about," I replied.

Rose nodded slowly and then pulled me by the hand out of the room. She refused to tell me where we were going until we got to her room.

"I'm not really pathetic enough that I've earned myself a pity fuck, am I?" I asked while she unzipped her dress.

"Who said this had anything to do with pity?" she replied, dragging my clothes off and pulling me into her bed.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Marbury, why do you look so exhausted?" Cartwright asked me on Monday.

I jumped and shook myself more awake. "Erm…I just…my friends are on a honeymoon and I'm watching their kid while they're gone," I replied. Technically, it was true, but it also wasn't the reason I was mostly asleep. I don't understand how it happened, but Rose and I had spent the entire weekend in bed together.

"Your friends had children outside of wedlock?" Cartwright asked, looking vaguely disapproving.

I shrugged. "Just the one," I said. "And it'll happen…"

"Well I hope their – son, daughter?" Cartwright asked.

"Daughter," I replied, managing not to snarl at him.

"I hope their daughter is well provided for," he said. He frowned at me. "Aren't you only twenty? And they left you in charge of their child?"

I wanted to scream at him that I had actually been twenty when my own daughter was born and I had been an excellent father whose only shortcoming had been allowing her mother to take her away, thereby opening the floor for Cartwright to murder her, but I didn't.

Instead I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah," I said. "I'm decent with children, though."

He nodded like he could accept this as reasonable. "Well, I'm going for lunch. I'll be back in an hour."

I scribbled it down in my day planner and went back to eating my sandwich.

When Cartwright returned an hour later, there was a speck of something red on his white shirt, just barely hidden behind his tie.

"Erm, sir, you've got something on your shirt," I pointed out.

He looked down, genuinely surprised and picked at it for a moment. He sniffed the red liquid on his finger experimentally and then licked it and shrugged.

"Ketchup," he said. "Thanks for pointing it out."

I nodded and went back to the files HR was making me process.

When he left for the night, I noticed he was wearing a different shirt, but carrying no bags with him. As soon as he was gone, I snuck into his office and discovered the old shirt folded up in a corner of his coat closet. I waved my wand at the red spot. The green glow it gave off confirmed my suspicions. It was blood.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Where the hell did he go for lunch to get blood on his shirt?" Dylan asked, looking disturbed.

"I don't know, do I?" I replied, taking a drink. "It's not like he told me where he was going."

"We'll have to find out, won't we?" Al said.

I agreed and resumed my holding pattern of watching Cartwright's every move. It quickly became apparent that when he didn't have a lunch meeting, he would go out for lunch. He never told me where he was going, just that he would be back in an hour. After the day I pointed it out, there was never any blood on his shirt, but he always seemed to double check just before he walked into his office.

Then on Halloween, I stepped into his office to give him a series of reports and noticed a locket lying on his desk. It was small and oval shaped, a shiny gold and copper alloy that looked almost pink in the light. There was a family crest engraved on the front, a shield with a white plane and a scarlet cross across it with a small red rose in each triangular quadrant.

My heart stopped.

"Wh – where did you get that locket, sir?" I asked, managing to keep my voice from shaking. It had been a year to the day since Rachel turned up on my doorstep broken beyond repair and screaming at me that they'd killed Angelica, and of course it had to be today of all days that Angelica's locket turned up on Cartwright's desk.

"Oh this?" he asked, picking it up casually and turning it in his palm. "I got it for one of my girls about a year ago. It's broken though, doesn't open. I was going to bring it into town to have someone look at it."

"May I see it?" I asked, barely able to get my voice above a whisper.

Cartwright gave me a confused look but handed me the locket. I turned it over in my palm and felt it click open. Rachel's face stared at me from the left side of the panel, and my own stared back from the right side. Neither of the portraits occupants seemed to have any idea that anything untoward had happened, because they both just kept grinning or, in Rachel's case, snoozing on the side of the frame. I clicked it shut quickly before Cartwright could realise I had opened it.

As you well know, McFarlane, the locket could only be opened by someone biologically related to the owner. I think you gave it to Rachel when she was six months old, didn't you? I could only open it once she gave it to Angelica.

"Any luck?" Cartwright asked.

"Nope," I replied, handing him the locket back, deeply reluctant to let it slip through my fingers. "You know, sir, I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to head out for the day if that's alright."

"Alright," he said jovially. "But if I find out this was just an excuse to go out to that Mad Hatter club all the kids are into these days…"

He gave me a jokingly admonishing stare and I managed to force a smile in response before I ran for the Floo and took myself home. I barely made it out of the fireplace before I collapsed into a very pitiful ball of a person in the middle of the hallway. I had my head between my knees and had managed to soak my trousers with incoherent tears and curses by the time Rose found me.

She didn't say anything, just sat down next to me and ran her hand across my back soothingly.

"He has her locket," I managed to say. "He gave it to one of his daughters. It was lying there on his desk, just…lying there."

Rose let me continue to sit there until I had run out of the bodily fluids necessary to cry and then she steered me up the stairs to my room and put me to bed. I didn't even have to ask her to stay with me.

* * *

"He had her locket?" McFarlane asked in a strangled tone. I nodded and then fished through my pocket for the folded picture I kept on me at all times. It was of Angelica and me the very first day I had seen her. I was completely unconscious in my armchair and Angelica was snoozing on a pillow on my legs, one of her pudgy hands balled up next to her mouth, the other holding one of my fingers in a death grip.

I handed it to McFarlane and his face hardened like he was trying very hard not to be emotional about it.

"Why was there blood on his shirt?" McFarlane asked finally, handing me the picture back. I put it back in my pocket and attempted to compose myself.

"Because, McFarlane," I replied. "Sometimes mass murder gets a little messy."

**Review! **


	19. And Suddenly Everything Made Sense

**A/N: Because it's going to come up later, pinkies are my new (un) official name for baby pygmy puffs, which was a name I arrived at by looking at lists of various names for animals. Apparently pinkie is a name for both baby mice and baby rats, and since pygmy puffs are sort of the mice of the Wizarding world, I went with it. On a related note, there are cotillions of cheetahs, baby hedgehogs are called piglets, a group of jellyfish is called a smack, and you can have a group of kittens called a kindle. You can have a kindle of kittens. Also in the theme of "you learn a new word every day" a quirt is a type of riding crop, which I discovered because of typos. Thank you for reviewing: Sarnia Nereid, Blood and Dark Chocolate, FairLightsAndGlitter, Prunella7, Lovestoread456, MaebeSara, Tom (you are more than welcome to send your Cartwright murder suggestions in, even though I do actually have some sort of plan in place already, but by all means, carry on), KeishaM, District 9 3-4, Azure, Caren (your English was excellent. I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't said anything), and ishika-malfoy. You guys are seriously my favourite people on the whole internet. **

Chapter Eighteen – And Suddenly Everything Made Sense

"Maybe we could just give evidence that he's up to something and then murder him so that when the aurors go to investigate his untimely death, they find whatever it is he's hiding and then he'll be ruined and no one will ever remember that he did good things," Em suggested in mid-November.

"If we knew what he was up to that might be a possibility," Will replied. "But everything is spotless in the office. Sort of creepily so."

I nodded in agreement and bounced Violette on my knee distractedly while she licked frosting off the spoon Sam had given her.

"He's very good at hiding whatever it is he's doing," Sam agreed.

"And his reputation is everything to him," I continued. "He wants nothing as much as to be remembered as a fucking saint. I want him to be alive when we destroy him so that he can watch it crumble into nothing while everyone starts hating him."

"Fair," Em replied.

"Did you know that Emily down in HR got fired last week because she made some offhanded comment about Slytherins not being worth as much as the rest of the Hogwarts houses?" Will asked.

"Bitch," Em said.

"Yes," the rest of us agreed.

"But seriously, who runs that tight a ship that even an offhanded comment can get you fired and yet also murders children?" I asked.

"Peter Cartwright," was the unanimous answer.

As November faded into December, business was going quite well. None of us had even been suspected of illegal dealings aside from the time Ron arrested me because of my tattoos, and we were to the point of "stupidly rich."

Cartwright kept disappearing for his mysterious luncheons with death but we kept having issues tailing him since he would disapparate once he left the building. Sam and Will were working on a spell that would allow them to track apparition, but they hadn't come up with anything yet.

"I just want to know what he's doing," I complained to Rose over lunch a week before Christmas. I had started using my lunch break at Cartwright Incorporated to do my actual job for MadCap Industries. Usually, this involved sitting in Rose's office with us on either side of her desk, our feet up – Rose's always in fancy high heels, usually black leather with red soles that she was extremely fond of mentioning every time she wore them – and plates of carry out food in our hands while we talked business.

"I know," she replied, leaning across the desk to spear a piece of my falafel.

"Why would you do that?" I asked, giving her a wounded look. She just smiled evilly at me and took a bite. "You know, I think you might be the most evil of the lot of us. I think you were predisposed."

"_I _was predisposed?" she asked. "I'm sorry, what was your family doing during the War?"

"Well, exactly!" I replied. "_My_ family fucked up during the war, so it's my place to atone for all their bullshit, while yours _won_ the war on the side of righteous goody-two-shoes-ness, so it was only natural that you and Al would have to balance that out somehow."

"Righteous goody-two-shoes-ness?" Rose asked. "My parents robbed Gringotts."

"We could give that a try," I said with a shrug.

"They did it with Unforgivables, so unless you have a desire to become exactly Daniel Ellison, how about no?" she replied.

"It was just an idea," I said. "You know, in case we ever found a spare moment between running the largest crime syndicate in the UK and ruining the country's golden boy."

"Right," Rose said, looking slightly amused. She collected her plate and mine and chucked them in the bin before she returned to her seat. She started to put her feet back up on the desk, and then a funny expression crossed her face. "I knew I forgot something this morning."

"What?" I asked, mentally preparing myself for the fact I was about to have to go back to my fake job. I was standing up and everything, getting ready to transfigure my face back to Trevor Marbury's, when I was forced to reconsider.

"My knickers," Rose said, sounding torn between amusement and annoyance with herself.

The knowledge that there was nothing under her fitted pencil skirt and the memory of the fact Rose had been very good in bed both times we had slept together made me pause.

"Oh," I said somewhat lamely.

Then, I don't quite understand how it happened and I couldn't have told you even minutes later (let alone a whole year), Rose was sitting on the edge of her desk with her skirt shoved up to her hips and I was between her thighs and it was excellent.

"If I had known you would jump me, I think I might have mentioned my wardrobe malfunction earlier," Rose said breathlessly while I zipped up my trousers and tried to make it look like I hadn't just had really delightful sex. Normally, I wouldn't have cared except that I had to go back to being Trevor Marbury and Trevor Marbury remains single.

"Maybe next time," I said, willing my breathing to return to normal.

"You should be so lucky, Blondie," she replied in her most teasing of voices.

I had to go back to work, but for the first time since I had set foot in Cartwright Incorporated, I was actually able to smile genuinely and pretend to be something akin to happy without it making me hate myself.

Christmas rolled around with the stealth and regularity of a massive family event that occurs at the same time every year. As usual, our Christmas celebrations included inviting all the parents and whichever siblings felt inclined to attend. Hugo didn't show, as was expected, but Teddy and Victoire showed up along with their three children and Teddy's grandmother – my great-aunt – who looked more than a little confused when I immediately whisked off all four children in the house so we could play with the pygmy puffs together.

"I think he's the first person in the entire Black family to actually like children," my dad commented, staring at me in confusion while I explained why one group of pygmy puffs had managed to acquire turquoise spots on otherwise gold fur (it had been a rather tragic Romeo and Juliet story initially, but the golden puff had come out victorious in the gladiatorial conflict and the ensuing court case and now they had their own pinkies to take care of).

"I'm rather fond of my children, thanks," Teddy replied, giving my father a sketchy and slightly offended look.

"I'm occasionally fond of mine as well," my dad retorted. This is approximately the closest he ever gets to admitting he likes me as a person. "I simply meant that most of us are typically clueless of what we should do with them when they're very small. Although, I don't think any of us ever considered entertaining them with anthropomorphic puff balls."

"Scorpius was a great father," Em said before I could stop her. I realised belatedly that she was rather drunk – taking advantage of the fact she was no longer pregnant – and that Em's filters tend to disappear completely once she's drunk.

"Scorpius isn't a father," my dad replied, giving her a confused look.

"Erm, babe, why don't we go put you to bed before you get sick on the pudding," Will suggested, attempting to steer Em out of the dining room. She let him and he mouthed apologies at me.

"Why did Emerald think you were a father?" my mother asked curiously.

Yes, McFarlane, I did keep Angelica a secret from my own parents. Consider yourself lucky. You're the first grandparent to find out she existed. Actually, I don't know if that counts as lucky considering what happened to her, but there you have it.

"I think she just meant I'd make a good father, assuming I ever find myself a girl willing to spend the necessary amount of time with me," I said.

From the other end of the table, I heard Ginny give Harry and Ron a stern talking to about appropriate dinner conversation before she turned and joined Mr and Mrs Baker and Bill and Fleur Weasley in harassing Sam and Dom about children.

"Honestly, Dad, you're being ridiculous," Al said from where he was sitting across from his father. As I moved to sit down with them, content to leave the four kids in the competent care of the pygmy puffs (and also seven month old Violette in the equally competent hands of Teddy and Victoire's nine year old daughter), I noticed that Dylan's hand was creeping steadily up Al's thigh. When I sat down, I lightly kicked his chair and he knocked it off.

"About what?" I asked, butting into Al and Harry's conversation. I noticed quickly that Rose and Ron were also part of the discussion. Rose and I hadn't been alone in a room together since that day in her office, and so I was a little surprised when she stretched her feet out under the table and set them in my lap without looking at me.

"He's got some mad theory that half the crimes in the country are connected," Al replied with a patiently annoyed look at his father.

"I think I might know a bit more about crime than you do, Albus," Harry pointed out. The four of us managed to keep a collective straight face.

"Tell me about your theory, Mr Potter," I requested, taking a sip of my wine with one hand and lightly trailing my fingers up Rose's calf with the other.

"We've got a serious problem with international smuggling," Harry said. "Some Dark artefacts, some that just aren't legal for various reasons. The smugglers are exceptionally talented at masking everything and we haven't got a single one of their grunts to talk yet. And they're spread out across the entire country."

"Wouldn't that suggest they were different smuggling rings?" Rose asked with an eyebrow quirk.

"Well, yes," Harry admitted. "For a while I sort of thought they were Daniel Ellison's, but he doesn't do much smuggling."

"Daniel who?" I asked as innocently as possible.

"Ellison," Ron replied. "He's a mob boss. We haven't been able to pin anything on him for years, and most of his men have done time, but he keeps getting away with it by not doing any of his own dirty work."

"Pull an Al Capone and arrest him on tax evasion," Dylan suggested.

"Pull a what?" Harry and Ron chorused.

"Erm, never mind," Dylan mumbled into his wine.

"But then in addition to the loads of smuggling rings, there's also been an influx of drug trafficking both into and out of the country," Ron said. "And we're pretty sure some of the most harmful ones are being grown right here in England."

"No, the most annoying thing about the drugs is that whoever's growing them and processing them has managed to weed out the impurities – no pun intended – so they're actually less volatile and harmful than they have been in the past," Harry said. "So on the one hand, it's sort of nice because at least if people feel the desperate need to screw themselves up on drugs they're not also going to accidentally kill themselves, but at the same time it's also less dangerous and more prolific and so the trade's expanding."

"You don't say?" Al asked.

"And what makes you think all these things are connected?" Rose asked, rubbing her foot on the inside of my leg.

"Nothing in particular, unfortunately," Harry said. "At least on the continent their crime consortiums and syndicates have the common courtesy to have gang tattoos."

"I'm unfortunately aware," I replied, giving Ron a dirty look.

"But no one here would really do that because of Voldemort," Harry continued.

At the opposite end of the table, my dad twitched uncomfortably and ran his hand down his left sleeve to make sure it was still down.

"So it's just your spider senses tingling?" Dylan asked, looking mildly amused.

"Spiders?" Ron asked, looking unnerved.

"I've got a spider," I said, starting to roll up my sleeve. I had made them put it on the back of my arm so I didn't have to look at it.

"I'm okay without seeing that, thanks," Ron replied. Rose snickered and I put my hand back on her calf.

The parents finally started to filter out an hour later and I was quite sad when Teddy and Victoire took their kids with them. They promised to ask me to babysit if they ever needed someone – mostly because all three kids were heartily protesting being removed from the pygmy puffs – and then everyone was gone. Sam and Dom giggled off to their room the moment the door closed while Al had to enlist me to get Dylan up the stairs to his room.

I left them both there and stepped into the corridor, at which point hands buried themselves in my hair and soft lips attacked my own. Rose squeaked slightly when I picked her up by the arse and carried her down the hall to her room, but did nothing by way of protesting.

"Some night we're going to have to do this in my room," I said. Her dress was champagne coloured silk with a corset top that I had to unlace entirely to remove. I took the opportunity to press a kiss to every newly exposed inch of skin as it was revealed.

"Why your room?" Rose asked in a huskier voice than normal.

"Because my bed is more comfortable," I replied, finally managing to get her dress off.

Unlike at the office, we actually had time to explore each other's bodies which we hadn't done after either wedding. For example, I discovered that when I kissed the side of her neck she would moan my name in an almost reflexive way.

And then, inexplicably, it became a habit. I would go to work as Trevor Marbury, meet with Rose for lunch so we could continue to successfully run MadCap Industries, go back to stalking Cartwright, and then when I got home for the night, I would have sex with Rose.

The only annoying thing about it was that by February, it was starting to become distracting. I stopped focusing as much on Cartwright and instead started focusing on Rose. I spent an entire workday in early March fantasising about what underwear Rose might be wearing that day. The worst part was I didn't notice how distracted I was until Isobel came to visit me at my office.

"Have you found anything?" she asked.

"He turned up with blood on his shirt one day, and he has my daughter's locket," I replied. "Other than that, I've got nothing."

"Oh," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "I found this, and I thought it might be useful."

She handed me a letter. A quick glance showed that it was from Isobel to her late boyfriend, my predecessor as Cartwright's PA, and that he had kept it in perfect condition. Somehow, it had survived the arsonist who set fire to his flat, and scribbled at the bottom in different handwriting was a single word. "Warehouses."

"Do you know what he meant?" I asked.

"No," Isobel said. "But I sent that to him about a week before he died, right before he started saying he had found something. I just thought that maybe it was relevant. Good luck."

"Right," I replied, handing her the letter back and returning to my job.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"You can sleep here, you know," Rose offered, snaking her hands around my chest and pressing light kisses across my shoulders.

"Rose," I said, struggling to not sound annoyed. I didn't want to be an asshole since she was one of my closest friends and I really liked having sex with her, but I had completely lost focus on what I was supposed to be doing.

"Hmm?" she asked, her hands snaking lower on my torso while I sat on the edge of her bed, trying to pull on my pants.

"What are we doing?" I asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, lightly grazing her teeth across the junction between my neck and shoulder.

"I mean this is a distraction," I replied.

"A distraction?" she repeated, sounding unimpressed. "You think this is a distraction?"

"Well it is," I said. "I can't even focus on what Cartwright's doing half the time because I keep having daydreams about what knickers you're wearing."

"Most people wouldn't consider that a distraction," she replied icily. "Most people would realise that it's a sign that _maybe_ you're starting to figure out how to be happy again."

"I don't want to be happy, Rose," I said, managing to pull myself out of her grasp and stand up. I did my utmost not to notice that she was still completely naked, her hair in utter disarray, her perky, freckled breasts very prominent. "I want revenge."

"Do you seriously think I would _ever_ ask you to give up avenging your daughter's death?" she demanded. She crossed her arms and accidentally pushed her boobs together. I did my best to not stare.

"Well, then what are you asking me to do?" I asked, slightly angrier than I had realised.

"Exactly what you've been doing!" she insisted. "Go figure out what Cartwright's doing during the day, and then come back to me at night!"

I felt my face contort into a mask of confusion while small, dusty cogs in the back of my head started clicking together.

"You – do you _like_ me?" I asked, bewildered.

She covered her forehead with her hand like she was trying to compose the best possible way to inform me I was the worst sort of idiot.

"Scorpius," she said in a half-pitying, half-annoyed voice like she was explaining something to a five year old. "I have been literally throwing myself at you for seven years. And you didn't get that until – actually, I'm not sure you have got it yet."

I frowned at her. "But you always said Al was crazy when he suggested that you fancied me."

"Of course I did!" she snapped. "The disgusted look on your face? Every time he brought it up you looked like he'd suggested you go shag Moaning Myrtle!"

"I-" I stammered, realising belatedly that she was right. "Well, I don't feel that way now!"

"Clearly," she replied. "But no, since I'm a 'distraction,' you're more than welcome to piss off and take your misplaced guilt about being happy with you."

She crossed her arms again and turned away from me, standing up like she meant to go take a shower.

See, at most points in my life, that would've been the moment where I did something stubborn and idiotic like walk away, return to my own room, and give her the silent treatment for the ensuing month. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to process several things very quickly. First, I did sort of feel guilty about starting to be happy again since a good portion of my brain was insistent that I did not get to be happy without my daughter either being alive (which wasn't going to happen) or avenged. Second, Rose was not just a distraction; Rose made me happy. Third, I really did fancy her in a sort of painfully all-consuming way.

So before she could get to the bathroom – where she would presumably lock the door and refuse to come out until I was gone – I grabbed her by the wrist and spun her back towards me. I ran my hand through her curly hair and kissed her. She stood on her toes and wrapped her arms around my neck before we tumbled back onto the bed.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Sir, someone in R&D was looking for a map of all our warehouses," I told Cartwright when I brought in the daily reports.

"Why?" Cartwright asked, looking bewildered.

I shrugged to indicate that I had no idea and hadn't thought to ask.

"We've got a hundred and fifty," Cartwright continued. "Why on earth would whoever it was need a map?"

I shrugged again. Cartwright shook his head curiously, and then dug through one of his binders for a sheet of paper. He offered it to me.

"I don't know why you would need a map of our warehouses, but carry on," he said, dismissing it as a fluke of random R&D people being, well, random R&D people.

Do you know how big warehouses are, McFarlane? I deal in warehouses on a frequent basis since I like to steal them from Ellison for fun, and also because we import and export things that hide very well in warehouses. Warehouses are rather expansive and it turned out that every single one owned by Cartwright Incorporated was full of partitions and nooks and crannies and dark corridors and catwalks and a next to infinite amount of space where one might hide something unsavoury.

"So I suppose you're sort of my girlfriend now, aren't you?" I asked Rose one night in May while we searched a warehouse. Due to time constraints, it had taken us two months to get through forty of the 150 warehouses.

"You suppose?" she repeated. "Is that how you ask someone to be your girlfriend? I can't imagine Rachel taking that well."

"I never technically asked Rachel to be my girlfriend," I replied. "You lot just started referring to her as my girlfriend and neither of us found cause or occasion to protest."

"And yet if she had let you, you would've married her for Angelica's sake," Rose said.

"Yeah," I agreed, wondering if I was going to get in trouble for saying it. Rachel had been my only actual relationship and we hadn't been exactly normal.

"I'll have you know that on the off chance you manage to knock me up, you will not be proposing in the hospital like Will did," Rose replied.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said. "And anyways, aren't proposals just simple or something? Like, I find you deeply attractive and wish to spend the rest of time legally bonded to you?"

"The last of the true romantics, you are," she said, rolling her eyes.

We didn't find anything in the warehouse, and neither did anyone else in their searches. After we all reconvened in the house and everyone split off for bed, Rose climbed into bed next to me and lay on her side staring.

"We should probably tell people we're dating," she said.

"Yeah, probably," I agreed.

If we had expected this to be a revelation or a shock to the rest of our group, we were sorely disappointed. I casually dropped it into conversation over dinner one night and they hardly reacted. Dylan and Al exchanged looks that said they had known already. Em nodded sagely like she had expected no less. Will and Dom barely even looked up from the in-depth conversation they were having about Quidditch, and Sam didn't notice because Violette was flinging her leftover birthday cake at him.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"You know, it occurred to me," Will said in August. We were at 100 warehouses checked and every single one was exactly what it claimed to be. "If he's up to something truly sketchy, then why would he be doing it through officially owned warehouses?"

We realised he was right and then we had to start looking for signs of unofficially owned warehouses. I figured out that he had probably been trying to buy warehouses off Ellison for precisely this reason, but since he hadn't managed it thanks to me, the question became: where did he get his warehouses?

But then we had another problem. A certain auror from the organised crimes division kept creeping into our club unexpectedly. Never said anything to anyone, never bought a drink, never snooped on anything. Just…sat there.

"Who even is he?" Rose whispered while we danced together. We were having 1940's Night at the club, so we got to slow dance to a century-old big band.

"His name's Davan McFarlane," I whispered back. "He works in organised crime."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

I shrugged. "He's Rachel's dad."

"Oh," Rose said softly, looking like she felt bad for you. "Out of curiosity, are you ever going to tell your parents about Angelica?"

"No," I replied.

Rose frowned at me. "But they were her grandparents, don't they have a right to know?"

"Yes, so that I can tell them about Cartwright and Rachel in the Solomon Islands and our jobs and the fact I'm strongly considering murder if we don't turn anything up in the near future-" I started.

"Okay, okay," she interrupted. "Fine."

And we didn't turn anything up. Not for all of August, or September, and then it was October and Sam and Will finally made a spell that would let you track someone's apparition destination. Then I just had to wait for Cartwright to go off for one of his mysterious lunches, cast the spell and wait.

They set it up so the location would turn up on a piece of parchment back at the house. Two weeks ago, Cartwright bid me farewell and went off for his lunch. I followed him discretely out to the apparition point and cast the spell at him. Then I had to go to my normal lunch with Rose and wait for the work day to be over so I could go find the address.

The lot of us stared at the location listed and remembered with clarity the blood that had been on Cartwright's shirt, and in my case, Angelica's face, the way Rachel looked when she collapsed at our house almost two years prior, the tragic smile on Mrs Holloman's face when we asked about her husband.

"We should all go," Em suggested. "Merlin only knows what they've got there."

"What about Violette?" I asked.

"I'll stay with her," Dom offered. "After all, I'm essentially a gangster's moll not an actual criminal. I don't really have any business going with you guys. So yeah, I'll stay here with Violette."

We all agreed that this was for the best and the seven of us put on our normal breaking and entering clothes before we apparated to the location.

It was a warehouse, as Isobel's late boyfriend had predicted, nestled into the middle of a dock system in Yorkshire. It was entirely inconspicuous, maybe slightly rundown. Sam ran a quick analysis on it to reveal it was heavily sound proofed and taken care of by all sorts of enchantments. It was clear that whatever was in this warehouse was not meant to get out for any reason. Sam and Will managed to unlock a side door and we snuck in.

It was entirely silent, but it reeked beyond anything any of us had ever smelled.

And then we turned on the lights.

**Review!**


	20. Ah, How the Mighty Fall

**A/N: So, this actually isn't the last chapter. There will be another that sort of outlines what happens to them afterwards, but this is the last major chapter. I know exactly how it ends, and I think you'll all enjoy it, but we're not there **_**quite**_** yet. Also, I promise this is the very last plot-twist. Thanks to: Prunella7, Sarnia Nereid, Blood and Dark Chocolate (if I do write a history of pygmy puffs, I promise I'll let you know), blue21, District 9 3-4, Fionamoi, Tom, Guest, Charlottembp, KeishaM, and Dutchgirl71. You guys rock my stripy socks. (Bonus points to those who recognise the Christopher Moore reference…)**

Chapter Nineteen – Ah, How the Mighty Fall

"And of course, you know what happened next," I said, tapping my fingers on the table uncomfortably. "You uncovered evidence linking me to the drug trade, you arrested me last night, and now we're here."

McFarlane frowned at me. "What was in the warehouse, Malfoy?"

I opened my mouth to answer and found that I might be sick if I tried. "I'm sorry," I said. "I can't. You'll have to see it for yourself."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" McFarlane asked. "All I've got is the word of a suspected criminal who just confessed to more crimes than I can actually count. Your word against Cartwright's is going to end pretty poorly."

"I know," I said.

"I don't think you quite thought that one through," McFarlane informed me. "What I could work with would be an anonymous tip, one that would let me conduct a raid on the warehouse-"

"Preferably one that was later revealed to be an anonymous tip leaked by someone very close to Cartwright?" I guessed. "Someone like his personal assistant?"

McFarlane's head cocked sideways. "But I still have to book you for everything else you've done," he pointed out. "And Rose and Al and Sam and Dylan and Will and Em and even Dom for being accessory to half your crimes. Frank Longbottom and Lucy Weasley and-"

"That's not going to work so well for me," I interjected.

"But I've been investigating your company for two and a half years," McFarlane replied. "I've got loads of evidence and-"

"You don't," I said.

"Yes, I do," McFarlane assured me.

"No, you really don't," I said. Then the ceiling panel popped open. McFarlane stared at it in shock and confusion while Rose dropped onto the table.

"It's Davan, right?" she asked, jumping off the table and shaking his hand. She turned to face me instead of McFarlane's gobsmacked stare. "You didn't really have to go into that much detail about our relationship, you know."

"Sorry," I said, not really sorry at all. Thinking about Rose helped me get through it without dissolving into a useless puddle of a human being.

"How did you get in here?" McFarlane asked. Then he turned back to me. "Why get yourself arrested in the first place?"

"Because," Rose said. "We needed you to be inexorably on our side."

"I'm not," McFarlane insisted.

"If push came to shove, would you side with Peter Cartwright who murdered your granddaughter, or with me?" I asked. "We've never once visited violence on anyone, remember."

"But-" McFarlane protested. He looked deeply conflicted, which we could work with.

"I got myself arrested so that I could sway you to our side," I explained. "Because there isn't anything much more genuine than a father crying about his lost child. And also, because it provided a distraction."

"For what?" McFarlane asked.

In response, Sam dropped onto the table as well and budged aside quickly to make room for Will. McFarlane looked like he might have an apoplexy.

"How's it going?" Will asked. He jumped off the table and smacked me upside the head. "Who the fuck says I'm the second most attractive of the lot of us?"

"Everyone besides Em," I replied. "Since I'm clearly better looking."

"Children, I think you settled that one when we were still in Hogwarts," Rose interjected before Will and I could get in an ego-fuelled pissing contest. "Sorry Will."

"You're only siding with him because you two keep fucking like bunnies," Will pouted.

"That's the only reason Em sides with you," Sam replied with a shrug.

"Why are the three of you in the Ministry?" McFarlane demanded, his wand pointed at Will, Sam, and Rose. His hands were steady but there was no conviction in his eyes. whatever else I had done that night, I had at least managed to convince him that maybe we weren't actually terrible people.

"Oh, we've been systematically destroying all your evidence about MadCap and Scorpius and the rest of us," Rose explained. "And I'm sorry but we're going to have to expunge some of your memories."

"Well then how will that help you or help me get Cartwright?" McFarlane asked. "If I can't remember any of this interrogation?"

"See, that's the nifty thing about memory charms," Sam replied. He spun his wedding ring on his finger, which has been his habit whenever he talks about charms since he got married. Before, he used to just stare off into space vacantly while he enthused about charms, but now he spins his wedding ring like he's still thinking about Dom and how much he loves her, even though he's rambling about his first love instead.

"What is?" McFarlane asked.

"So, these past few years, we've relocated a few people you know? And we had to strip them of their memories of working for Ellison or for the Ministry, but we had to give them general senses of purpose so they would actually go do relief work, and we had to make sure they kept the fear of MadCap so they wouldn't come back," Sam said. "And as such, I've got pretty good at being selective of what I take out."

"You get to keep everything about Rachel and the Seraphim Sapphire and Cartwright and Angelica," Will informed him. "You get to keep the fact that Scor is actually Trevor Marbury. And you do get to maintain your emotional connection to him."

"I do not have an emotional connection to him," McFarlane insisted, giving Will a perturbed look. However, he lowered his wand like he realised it might be for the best.

"Don't lie," I said. "I've been here for seven hours. We once shared family. If nothing else, you respect me as a person."

McFarlane wanted to argue, except he knew I was right.

"First, I'd like my wand back, please," I requested. McFarlane gave the four of us a last look and waved his wand at the safe where he'd stored mine upon my arrest. I took it back and slipped it into my back pocket. "You'll probably want to be sitting when we take your memories."

"What if I won't let you?" McFarlane asked. He had absolutely no conviction in his voice.

Rose sighed. "We've left for you information about the warehouse and Cartwright as dictated by Trevor Marbury. The case file for Richard Holloman's murder is on your desk, case reopened. We've given you everything you need to bring him down. Trust me," she said. "It's worth it. Much more worth it than any of us."

McFarlane eyed the three of us. "You're going to want something, aren't you?"

"Well yes, but just one general thing," I agreed. "Since you're keeping the part about the Seraphim Sapphire, including us stealing it, Rose, Sam, Em, Rachel, and I are going to need pardons for that, theoretically negotiated because of our assistance with Cartwright."

"As soon as Cartwright's taken care of, does Rachel come back to England?" McFarlane asked, slowly lowering himself into his seat.

"I'll give her the option, I suppose," I said. "But if she's…happy…in the Solomon Islands it would be sort of cruel to make her come back."

"How bad is she?" McFarlane asked quietly.

"Her condition hasn't worsened or improved in two years," Rose said. "I'm sorry."

McFarlane gave Sam his hawk-like stare. "Couldn't you fix her with one of your memory charms?"

"I tried," Sam said. "I pulled all the memories of the actual torture, but the damage didn't go anywhere."

"At least she doesn't remember the pain," McFarlane said. Then he snapped and turned back into the steely auror who was so done with this shit that I had grown to respect. "Oh just get on with it before I regret my decision. And if you could make it so I don't remember doing this, or agreeing to this, that would be great."

"I could replace it with a relapse," Sam suggested. "If you wanted something to take the place of a completely lost night."

"I'll just keep the lost night, thanks," McFarlane said. "Just get on with it."

Sam nodded and mumbled something under his breath before a blue light floated out of his wand and washed over McFarlane. He fell forward onto the table unconscious. While Will and Sam climbed back into the ceiling, I pulled McFarlane's jacket off the back of his chair and folded it into a pillow which I slipped under his head.

"Come on," Rose said, climbing into the ceiling and then helping Will and Sam pull me up.

"Let's get out of here," I suggested. Everyone else agreed and we crawled through the duct work until we got to the main entrance.

We jumped into the Floos and spun off for home. As we stepped into the main hall, it was just in time for Dom to run past us halfway into her practice uniform. She paused on her way to the kitchen when she saw us.

"You're back!" she exclaimed, hugging me and then snogging Sam. He grinned and started to grope her arse but Will kicked him in the foot.

"You're in public," he reminded them.

"Sorry," they mumbled in unison while the five of us made our way to the kitchen.

Dom bustled around making coffee and toast. Everyone else accepted the coffee, but I had drunk about seven cups that night and my stomach was mostly done with me.

"I don't know why you told McFarlane that they ended the honeymoon phase last month," Will grumbled while Sam and Dom stood in the middle of the kitchen with their arms around each other. "They're still going strong."

"But at least no one's walked in on them going down on each other in a public space in the past six months," Rose pointed out.

As intended, both Dom and Sam turned beet red and stepped apart.

"Do you two know how unpleasant it is to be going for a book in the library only to happen across you two in the middle of the horror novel section with your tongues in-" Rose continued.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Rose," Dom replied. "Whenever you two have sex in the shower we can hear you from our room, which is four away thanks very much."

I smirked to myself and stared down at my toast so Dom couldn't see me.

"Don't act all proud of yourself, Malfoy," Dom grumbled.

"Sorry, Baker," I replied, snagging the marmalade from the other end of the counter.

"Also, while you lot were breaking and entering into the Ministry, Gran Weasley owled to start plotting Christmas dinner," Dom informed us. "Apparently, she has no mind for the fact it's November first, but anyways."

"We'll write her later," Rose assured her. "And aren't you going to be late for practice?"

"Yeah, I'm going," Dom said. "Glad you all made it back safely."

She snogged Sam again, taking care to use gratuitous amounts of visible tongue while Sam very pointedly groped her arse, and then she ran off to the Floo, leaving Sam visibly rumpled and deliriously pleased with himself.

"Hey, don't we have to go to work too?" Will asked suddenly, looking deeply unenthused by the prospect. "If for no other reason than to turn in our two weeks' notice?"

"Fuck," I grumbled. I wanted to do absolutely nothing besides climb into bed and sleep for a week. "Can I just call in sick?"

"That's what I'm doing," Sam said. "Actually, I think I'll just mail in my resignation, and then go to sleep so Dom can use me when she gets home."

"Right," I said. "Well I'm calling in sick. I've got about a million sick days left so I'm going to go to sleep."

Looking Cartwright in the face these past two weeks had been even harder than it was for the previous two years.

"You're not the only one who was up all night," Will called after me while I walked towards the stairs. I turned around and handed him my letter of resignation before I made my way up the stairs and collapsed onto my bed. I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"I got an offer in the Department for International Cooperation," I lied when Cartwright asked why I was resigning my post. The sick thing is, I think he actually liked me.

"Filing and organising things?" Cartwright asked.

"Erm, no," I said. "Forging an international taskforce to stop smuggling."

"It's MadCap Industries that's behind it, you know," Cartwright informed me. "Scorpius Malfoy and his various cronies."

"Have you mentioned that to the Ministry?" I asked. If he had, it would explain where Harry and Ron had got their theory. Everyone trusted Peter Cartwright except for the people in my employ and McFarlane.

"I think I mentioned it to Ron Weasley last year at some point," Cartwright said dismissively. "Well, I hope you like your new job. I'm sure you'll excel at it."

"Thank you, sir," I said, going back to my job. At least if Harry and Ron's theory was formed on Cartwright's suggestion, it should disappear once Cartwright was discredited.

I hadn't been back at it for twenty minutes when Cartwright wandered back out of his office and announced he was going for lunch. I was immediately sick to my stomach since I knew what he was actually doing now. He disapparated and I stood up to head out for MadCap.

However, I was delayed in the lobby.

McFarlane was standing there, arguing with the receptionist. He glanced up when he saw me, as did Lila.

"Trevor, would you explain to this man that Mr Cartwright has stepped out for lunch and won't be back for an hour? He doesn't seem to believe me," Lila pleaded.

"Trevor Marbury?" McFarlane asked. He looked like he wanted to comment on the completeness of my disguise, but didn't. "I'm Auror McFarlane. Is Cartwright out to lunch at the warehouse?"

"I believe so," I replied. "You should have about fifty five minutes still."

"Trevor?" Lila asked, sounding confused.

McFarlane and I both ignored her while McFarlane dashed for the Floo. He paused with his foot in the flames. "Would you like to be there?"

"No," I replied. Trevor Marbury would be going nowhere near the warehouse ever again. But I would definitely be there. "Hurry."

McFarlane nodded and ducked into the Floo, presumably to go assemble his raid team.

"Trevor, what's going on?" Lila asked.

"I'm sorry," I replied. Most of the people who worked for Cartwright Incorporated were decent people who actually wanted to help. I could only hope that their total ignorance to the reality of their jobs would spare them accessory charges.

I didn't wait for Lila to ask any more questions before I ran out the door to the apparition point and cracked off to MadCap. Rose jumped when I apparated straight to her office, Trevor Marbury quickly disintegrating back into Scorpius Malfoy.

A very confused looking drug runner from Portugal was staring at me.

"Don't ask," I recommended. "Are you new? Hi, I'm Scorpius Malfoy, holder of the contracts."

"We look forward to allying ourselves with your industry," the drug runner replied.

"So what's your insignia?" I asked.

"A single drop of fire," he said. "Yours?"

"A pygmy puff," I said. "I suppose I'll have the fire next to the Romanian dragon."

"Erm, Scor, what are you doing here right now?" Rose asked. She was in full business attire, pencil skirt, blouse, and perfectly prim cobalt robes. Her hair was swept up into a bun at the nape of her neck and I wanted nothing more than to ravish her there on the desk, Portuguese drug runner be damned.

"McFarlane turned up at the foundation," I explained. "The raid's happening now. Right now."

Rose's face went slack. She turned to the drug runner. "I'm sorry, Mr Silva. A project we've been invested in for a very long time is coming to fruition."

"I understand, Ms Weasley," Silva replied. "We shall finish this later. Perhaps I shall avail myself of your excellent club downstairs."

"You do that," I suggested, pulling Rose by the hand out of her office. I knocked on Em's office door and hucked a bouncy ball at Dylan's. They popped out in unison and took one look at the two of us before they immediately ran out of their offices and locked the doors.

"I'll Floo Will and Sam," Em offered, heading down the hall to the conference room where we housed our communication Floo. It wasn't big enough for standard transportation but it made transatlantic conversations easier.

"I'll go grab Al from Mungo's," Dylan said. "Meet you there."

He disapparated and Rose and I went to the conference room to collect Em. She pulled her head out of the fire as we walked in and the three of us disapparated.

Outside the warehouse, a ruckus had started up. Apparently in the process of assembling his raiding team, McFarlane had happened past half of the press in the Wizarding world. I noticed Elsie McFadden standing curiously behind the auror established perimeter along with some other journalists. No one else was there aside from us and the journalists. One of them was transmitting a live update over the wireless, and while we stood outside the warehouse in anticipation, more and more people started turning up.

Finally after half an hour of freezing in the November air, there was a loud explosion from inside the warehouse and then the door's burst open to reveal a very grim faced Harry Potter leading Cartwright out in handcuffs. Cartwright looked bewildered. Not ashamed, not disturbed, just…bewildered.

Harry slammed him into the Ministry car with much more force than necessary while the press clamoured incessantly. The rest of the aurors walked out behind him at that moment, most of them leading handfuls of terrified and blood-splattered Muggles. I didn't even want to think about the piles of bodies still inside in the slaughter house.

McFarlane was one of the last out, looking deeply shaken. Harry met him next to the blockade, conveniently close to the lot of us.

"I just…I don't understand _why_," Harry said.

"You've never been divorced," McFarlane replied. He glanced imperceptibly in our direction when he said it. "As far as I can figure, Cartwright's first wife was a Muggle and when she found out about us, she took it poorly and took their daughter back to the States with her and barely even let him see his daughter for the first seventeen years of her life. You can't imagine what it's like to not have your child, Harry. But I think something just…cracked.

"I think he came to the conclusion that Muggles would never be okay with us, and never accept us, if even his own wife couldn't," McFarlane continued. "And so he decided the best course of action was to round them up and slaughter them in droves. He took the homeless and the orphans. People no one would miss. I can only imagine he was intending to expand later, maybe move on to immigrants and refugees that no one would come looking for…"

Harry looked like he might vomit. "We fought a whole fucking war to end this sort of shit," he said. He pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We gave him humanitarian awards. We practically canonised the man and _this_ is what he's been doing? How did you get your first tip?"

"Cartwright's personal assistant," McFarlane replied. "Trevor Marbury's his name. I think we need to go raid Cartwright's house as well, just to be sure there isn't anything else there."

Harry nodded in agreement. "You run that raid, I'm going to take Cartwright back to the Ministry so I can throw him in Azkaban." He started to walk back towards the car but paused. "You realise you're looking at a promotion, right, McFarlane?"

"Erm…thank you, sir," McFarlane replied. I realised it must be weird for him to call Harry "sir" as McFarlane was nine years older than him. But then I figured he had to be sort of used to it, since he'd fought under Harry's instruction during the Battle of Hogwarts as a sort of residual effect from being schoolmates with Bill Weasley.

Harry got in the car and sped off, tailed by all of the journalists. Most of the aurors were trying to help the poor Muggles who had survived the gulag of the warehouse.

"McFarlane," I said, waving him down. "Do you need back up for the raid at the house?"

McFarlane glanced around at his co-workers who were decidedly busy continuing to investigate the warehouse and simultaneously aid the unfortunates.

"Let me through, I'm a Healer," Al said, ducking through the blockade and heading for the Muggles.

"And I can aid the Obliviators," Sam offered, following him in. I had no desire to go anywhere near the warehouse ever again, as the reek of dead bodies still clung to my nose.

"I could certainly use a hand," McFarlane admitted. "Consider it part of your penance for stealing the Seraphim Sapphire."

"Yes," I replied. "Stealing the Sapphire from a man who murdered someone to get it in the first place, who then tortured your daughter to instability to get it back after he had hired her to steal it from him."

McFarlane nodded in agreement, and the six of us disapparated to the edge of Cartwright's property. I was pretty sure that there was nothing in the house for us to find. I wasn't disappointed in my assessment while I searched Cartwright's office for anything to indicate his involvement in attempted genocide. All I found was Angelica's locket. I slipped it into my pocket and continued my search until I heard a sharp yell.

I ran towards the servant's quarters it had come from and discovered McFarlane staring slack-jawed at something with his hand clapped over his mouth, his wand out, and his wand arm shaking.

"What is it?" I asked. McFarlane didn't respond.

Fearing the worst, I edged towards the door to find a giant pair of bright blue eyes staring at me. My heart skipped a beat.

Hiding in the shadows in a frilly pink dress was a little girl. She looked like she was around three, and she had a little button nose, and rosy cheeks. In addition to her big blue eyes, she had corn silk hair that fell to her shoulders and she looked terrified.

_Cartwright's blond_, I reminded myself. _All of his children are blond. His wife is blonde._

"We promise we're not here to hurt you," McFarlane said, crouching down so he was closer to the same height as the little girl. My heart hadn't stopped skipping like a record that had fallen sideways on its spindle.

"You sound funny," the little girl informed him, sucking on a lock of her hair. She wasn't shy at all, and I figured she was probably just hiding because someone had told her to.

"Well, I'm Scottish," McFarlane replied.

With shaking fingers, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the locket. It clicked open in my hand automatically, but I shut it and set it on the floor between the girl and McFarlane.

The little girl eyed it curiously and then crouched down to pick it up. "What's this?" she asked, turning it over in her palm. It clicked.

"Angelica?" I whispered, my voice shaking as much as my hands while my tear ducts decided to run away with my self-control.

The little girl's head snapped up and she blinked at me. "What?" she asked.

I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing loudly. I dropped to my knees and pulled her into a tight hug, very determined that I would not be letting her go ever again.

Over my shoulder, she was still playing with the locket.

"She's pretty," she said, and I figured she was looking at the picture of Rachel. "Is that you?"

"It is," I agreed, starting to control my heaving sobs in favour of just having tears stream down my face in what was probably the least manly way possible. And I didn't even care.

"Why is your picture here?" Angelica asked.

"Because I'm your dad," I replied. She wiggled out of my grasp and stood in front of me, staring at me.

"Really?" she asked. "Is this like a fairytale?"

"What sort of fairytale do you want it to be?" I asked, holding her tiny hands that were so much bigger than I remembered.

"Are you a magical prince going to take me away to an enchanted castle?" she asked, blinking brightly at me.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Except that you're a magical princess."

"I am?" she asked, looking deeply enthusiastic about the idea.

"And do you know what we have in our kingdom?" I asked. She shook her head. "We have enchanted puffballs who absolutely love princesses. They love princesses and chocolate buttons and when you were very small they used to sleep in your cot to keep you safe at night."

"Really?" she asked, positively beaming at me. She put her tiny hand on my face. "Daddy-" my heart stopped for just a second "—why are you crying?"

"Because I thought I'd lost you, love," I replied, pulling her back into a tight hug. She kissed me on the cheek and I started crying again.

"Who is the funny man?" she asked, and I figured she was staring at McFarlane.

"I'm your granddad," McFarlane replied, his voice choked up with emotion. "We're going to get you out of here, alright?"

"Okay!" Angelica exclaimed. "I don't like it here. I have to sleep in the dark by myself."

"You never have to sleep in the dark by yourself ever again," I promised.

Angelica stared at me for a long moment. "I haven't had a daddy before," she said.

"I'm so sorry," I replied, managing to stand up. She kept her tiny arms wrapped around my neck while I carried her down the stairs and out onto the front lawn. Harry and Ron had turned up to check that everything was going swimmingly. Ron kept glancing at Rose, looking deeply confused by her presence. He looked equally confused by the fact Em, Will, and Dylan were there as well.

"Malfoy?" he asked when I stepped outside. "What are the lot of you doing here anyways? McFarlane?"

"They got me my tip that led me to Cartwright in the first place," McFarlane explained.

"Cartwright is a bad man," Angelica announced. "He makes me sleep in the dark."

"Who is that?" Harry asked, frowning at Angelica.

"I-" I stammered.

"We're going to have to get her to child services," Ron said. "Merlin only knows who's she is-"

"No!" Angelica, McFarlane, and I exclaimed in perfect horrified unison.

"Sorry?" Ron asked, giving us a bewildered look.

"You're not taking her anywhere," I informed him, extending my wand arm to him. "Run whatever tests you need, but you're not taking my daughter anywhere."

"Your…daughter…" Ron repeated, sounding even more confused.

"Oh my God," Rose whispered, rushing over to me. "Angelica?"

Angelica lifted her head off my shoulder to stare at Rose. "You're prettier than the lady in the necklace."

"Erm…Rosie?" Ron asked. "Since when does Malfoy have a daughter?"

"Four years ago, February 14th," I replied.

"Right…" Ron said like he didn't believe me.

"I promise you it's true," McFarlane said.

Harry and Ron both turned to stare at him in utter confusion.

"Erm…how would you know that?" Ron asked.

"Because she's my granddaughter," McFarlane replied. "Rachel Tyler, the fugitive, is my daughter and she's Angelica's mother."

"We're going to need to run tests to confirm this, you realise," Harry said.

"Go ahead," I replied, holding out my arm. "Do whatever you need, just don't separate us."

The convenient thing about magic is that paternity tests are very easy. Perhaps because of his work in the homicide division, Ron knew the incantation off the top of his head. Despite giving me a deeply confused look, he cast the spell. It instantly informed him – and anyone else paying attention – that Angelica was indeed my daughter and that McFarlane was her grandfather.

"You're going to tell us how this happened at some point, right?" Harry asked, giving the lot of us a confused look.

"Well, you see, Mr Potter, when a man and a woman find each other deeply attractive-" Dylan started. Harry shot him a look and he shut up, apparently uninterested in being scolded by his boyfriend's father.

Everyone looked like they really wanted to hold Angelica but weren't willing to ask me to let go of her. And I would be tempted to say we all lived happily ever after, but then, this is my life and that's just not how it goes. If we really were in one of Angelica's fairytales, it would have ended here. The bad man was arrested and his empire was crumbling around his ears, the displaced princess had a family again, and everything was going to be okay.

**Review!**


	21. Christmas to Christmas

**A/N: So, at Blood and Dark Chocolate's suggestion, I've written a petition from Scorpius to the Ministry to ask them to reclassify pygmy puffs as something besides vermin. It can be found on my profile as "On the Ministry's Misclassification of Pygmy Puffs." It is a thousand words of utter nonsense. Please enjoy at your leisure. **

**Also this isn't the last chapter. I was going to make it the last chapter, and then because I have a very definitive endpoint in mind, this got stretched out and it was taking too long (temporally and physically) to get there in one chapter, so now there will probably be one more after this. Probably one. Count on one, and we'll see what happens. **

**Thanks to: Blood and Dark Chocolate, Charlottembp, FairyLightsAndGlitter, Tom, noodlesandcheese, Prunella7, Sarnia Nereid, MaebeSara, District 9 3-4, CurlyFires01, Dutchgirl71, blue21, hugo-automaton, Fionamoi, KeishaM, and ishika-malfoy for reviewing! **

Chapter Twenty – Christmas to Christmas

"I just don't understand why you told Rachel she was dead," I said. It was taking all of my willpower not to lunge across the table and smash Cartwright's head in.

"She was a thief and a liar," Cartwright replied like this should be clear. "Honesty is the most important thing in the world."

"So naturally you lied to her," I said. "What the fuck got screwed up in your brain to make it seem like you weren't doing something wrong?"

"Of course I didn't kill Angelica," he replied like I hadn't said anything. "She's magical. Every drop of magical blood has to be protected, even the Muggleborns."

"But Merlin forbid you let the Muggleborn children keep their parents," I said, my fingers twitching. I wanted nothing more than to break his face in the hopes that maybe it would illustrate his failings as a human being. "How the fuck do you even stand yourself?"

"It's not that we're superior, Malfoy," he said. "It's that there's no way for us to share this planet. It's either us or them, and I would rather it was us."

"You're insane," I replied. "Fortunately, you're also going away for life thanks to crimes against humanity."

"But people will see what good I've done," Cartwright said. "They already do."

In response I dropped the day's _Prophet_ on the table. The headline read, in giant bold letters, "Cartwright a fraud – guilty of mass murder of Muggles and suggested involvement with neo-death eaters."

"It's the biggest scandal in a century," I said. "Everyone hates you."

Cartwright's face fell. But he bolstered himself back up as only psychopaths can do. "They'll see," he replied. "Just like that thieving bitch Rachel Tyl-"

That was as far as he got before I lunged across the table, grabbed the back of his head, and smashed his face against the table. He slumped out of his chair unconscious, nose broken, while the guards and the orderlies rushed over to escort me from the premise.

"I've wanted to do that for two years," I said, smiling brightly at the guards.

"Don't worry, we're there with you," one of them said. Another elbowed him to make him shut up.

"Just think," a third said. "If it was the old days, we could've sucked his soul out with a dementor."

"Wouldn't have worked," I replied as they escorted me to the door. "He doesn't have one to begin with."

They laughed, promised that they weren't going to report me for violence towards a criminal and sent me off to the Portkey that would take me back to the mainland. Rose and Angelica were waiting for me at the port, and Angelica ran up and hugged me firmly as soon as we spun into existence. I scooped her up and realised she had a pinkie in each pocket of her blue dress.

"You'll be happy to know that they've set up an honour guard," Rose informed me, plucking one of the baby puffs out of Angelica's pocket and handing it to me. It purred and snuggled itself into the breast pocket of my suit jacket. "They absolutely refuse to let her go anywhere without an escort of at least two."

I grinned and the three of us started to leave the port. Angelica kept one arm around my shoulders and petted the head of the pinkie in my pocket with the other.

"Do I have a mummy?" she asked. "Violette has a mummy and a daddy."

My heart sank. I couldn't think of any good way to explain Rachel to her when she was still just shy of four. Eventually, I would have to explain, but I couldn't do it yet.

"You do have a mummy," Rose said softly. "But you've also got me."

"And you're not my mummy?" Angelica asked, sounding confused.

"Well, no," Rose replied. "But I love your dad very much, and I love you too."

"You love me?" I asked, raising my eyebrow at her. "That's new."

She slapped me in the stomach and I laughed.

"Why is it funny?" Angelica asked.

"We'll tell you when you're older," Rose promised while we made our way to the Floo and back to the house. In the main hall, Will and Em – unaided by Violette who was sitting in the middle of everything with a troop of puffs – were hanging Christmas garlands and fairy lights in preparation for the Christmas celebrations set to take place in four weeks. As soon as we spun into the fireplace, I set Angelica down so she could run over and start playing with Violette and the puffs.

"So Christmas should be interesting," I said.

"Why?" Will asked.

"My parents don't know they're grandparents," I replied.

Angelica's eyes lit up. "I have _more_ grandparents? Not just Granddad Davan?"

"You have two other grandparents," I explained. I tried for a moment to imagine what she would get to call my parents, and could only imagine them recoiling in horror if someone called them Gran or Grandpa. "Also, I hope you lot don't mind, but I want to invite McFarlane to Christmas."

Will, Em, and Rose exchanged looks.

"Okay," Em said finally. "Does this mean you're inviting Rachel too?"

"I think she still has problems with things like Christmas carols and fires and I think she's better off in the Solomon Islands," I replied. "But someday soon we'll go visit."

They accepted this as reasonable and Rose slipped her hand into mine. "Can we talk?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," I said. "What about?"

"While naked and in your room," she elaborated at a whisper.

"Right then," I said. "Em, Will, would you guys be willing to watch Angelica?"

The four of us glanced down at the two girls who were completely swarmed by the pygmy puffs.

"They'll be fine," Will assured me and then Rose dragged me up the stairs to my room.

She kissed me and pulled me onto the bed while I made quick work of her clothes.

"You said you love me," I reminded her, kissing down the side of her neck.

"Don't be a twat," she replied, pushing my jacket off and unbuttoning my shirt. She didn't meet my eye.

"I'm just curious if you meant it or if you just said it because I have the most adorable daughter on the face of the planet," I said.

"Don't be an idiot," she recommended, flipping us over and pinning me against the bed.

"Am I a twat or an idiot?" I asked. "Can I really be both?"

"That's what you're doing right now," she pointed out, running her hands across my chest and undoing my belt.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you look when you do that?" I asked as she flipped her mane of scarlet curls over to one side and leaned down to press her lips against my chest. She smirked and sat up so she could pull my trousers off.

"You think I'm sexy regardless of what I'm doing," she replied, straddling my hips and snogging me again. I shrugged in agreement and pulled off her knickers.

Half an hour later while we lay on the bed panting heavily, she rolled over and rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm around her.

"I love you too," I said. She grinned and that was the last of it.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

I jumped awake to discover Angelica kneeling on the bed next to my head, looking like she might shortly take to peeling my eyes open if I didn't wake up _that_ instant.

"What's up?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her so she sprawled across my chest. Immediately, she wriggled out of my grasp and snuggled under the covers between me and Rose.

"There was a whole pile of pretty boxes on my bed!" Angelica announced.

"That's because it's Christmas, love," Rose mumbled, rolling over and draping her arm across Angelica.

"But what's Christmas?" Angelica asked. She sounded excited and curious all at once which made it slightly less heart-breaking that she didn't know what Christmas was at age three.

"Once a year, people send you all sorts of presents that are yours to keep and they wrap them in bright paper and then at night, the whole family comes over and we have dinner and you get to play with your presents," I explained.

"But why?" Angelica asked.

"I don't actually know," I replied.

"Somewhere a Catholic priest is crying," Rose mumbled. She leaned over Angelica's head and kissed me softly. "Happy Christmas."

"You too," I replied. I brushed Angelica's hair off her face. "What do you say? Want to go open your presents?"

She nodded enthusiastically and climbed out of bed, but she stopped when she saw the modest pile of presents on the foot of my bed.

"But you have presents too," she said, pointing at them. "Why can't everyone open them together?"

"We can," I said. "We can go get yours from your room or Rose and I can bring ours down to your room if you'd like and-"

"I'll go wake up Violette!" Angelica announced. She ran off down the hall leaving Rose and me staring after her.

"I think she meant _everyone_," Rose said.

"Oh," I replied, and then we jumped out of bed and ran off after her. In the hall, Dom and Sam were stumbling half asleep out of their room, clad in nought but their dressing gowns and pyjamas. Angelica ran away from them towards the stairs.

"Whazzagoinon?" Sam mumbled, scratching his head with bleary eyes.

"Sorry," I said. "Angelica wanted to open our presents together, and she said everyone, and apparently she meant everyone."

"Oh," Dom replied, smoothing down her sleep-ruffled hair. "Alright then."

She wandered back into their room and came back levitating a pile of presents.

"I've got ours," Rose offered, ducking back into my room. I nodded and headed down the stairs to find Angelica. She was coming out of Dylan and Al's room, the two of them stumbling awake after her.

"I don't…" Dylan mumbled, jamming his glasses on half-heartedly.

"We're to open our presents together," I explained while Al pulled on a shirt.

"Right," Dylan replied. "I suppose we'll meet under the tree then?"

"Sounds good," I said, following Angelica down the hall to Will and Em's room. It turned out that they were already awake, having woken up earlier when Violette had run into their room. Violette was two and a half and had recently taken to running into their room at odd hours.

The lot of us met under the Christmas tree we'd set up in the den. A fleet of puffs joined us and set about distributing the packages once we were all settled and Sam had provided all of us with mugs of coffee. Angelica seemed to think that this was the best thing that had ever happened, and maybe it was.

When we had finished opening all our presents, the girls were playing happily on the floor with the pygmy puffs and their new baubles. Sam had gone off to make breakfast.

"I've got one last thing for you," I mumbled to Rose.

"Funny, I've got one last thing for you too," she said. "But it's not for public eyes."

I followed her up the stairs to her room and pulled the small wrapped box out of my pocket. Rose pulled a small rectangular box out of her dresser drawer.

"I figure I'm sort of batting a thousand these past two months," I said, offering her my present.

"I'd wait for your reaction to my present before you say that with any sort of certainty," Rose replied.

"Should I go first or maybe, actually you should go first but-"

"How about we open them at the same time," she suggested. She looked nervous, but I was pretty sure she had no idea what was in my present. I certainly had no idea what was in hers.

I nodded in agreement and peeled off the wrapping paper to reveal a nondescript cardboard box. Rose had just revealed the small black leather box that I had wrapped for her. We both glanced up long enough to give each other suspicious looks, and then we each opened our respective boxes.

"Oh holy shit," we muttered in perfect unison.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"So Scorpius," my dad said when he saw Angelica. He couldn't fail to notice that she was, without question, my daughter. "When were you going to tell us you had a daughter?"

Angelica blinked up at him with her huge blue eyes and her corn silk hair held back by a scarlet bow. Rose had had a hand in dressing her for Christmas dinner, which was as formal as ever. She had quite happily dressed in a fluffy red princess dress and she was perfectly adorable. Rose, on the other hand, was wearing a shimmery black dress that clung to every curve and was backless and looked amazing with her scarlet curls.

"Oh come on," she said when I had asked if it was really appropriate to wear in front of all the parents, let alone the two and three year old girls in the house. "This is the last chance I'm going to get to wear something this sexy for a while. Just let me have this one."

I agreed – mostly because I was very interested to see how it looked on our floor later – and now we found ourselves faced with my father.

"I was going to get around to it eventually," I said, shaking his hand in the formal manner my family tended to exhibit.

"She's four," my dad pointed out. "Where have you been hiding her these past few years?"

"I haven't been hiding her," I said. I crouched down next to her. "Why don't you go play with Violette and Gabby, love? Show them the new pinkies the gold clan had."

"Okay!" she exclaimed, running off to find Teddy and Victoire's youngest daughter and Violette.

"So," my mother said, giving me a judgmental look. "Explain."

"She's Rachel's," I replied, taking a deep breath. "And mine, obviously. And then Peter Cartwright abducted the both of them when Angelica was six months old and tortured Rachel to a point of instability and then told her that he'd murdered my daughter. We recovered her when we conducted the raid on Cartwright's warehouse and home last month. I never told you about her because I thought she was dead and it hurt too much."

My parents were staring at me in horror. I smiled at them brightly.

"Her name is Angelica Elizabeth Malfoy, and her birthday is Valentine's Day," I continued. "You two get to decide what she calls you, because frankly, I think you'd both flinch every time she called you 'granddad' or 'gran.'"

They kept staring at me and then McFarlane spun into the Floo. He straightened his bowtie and looked distinctly uncomfortable until Angelica ran into the front hallway.

"There's my girl!" he exclaimed, scooping her up into a giant hug.

"Granddad we've got new pinkies!" Angelica announced, kissing him on the cheek. "Come see!"

McFarlane tipped his head in my direction in recognition and then let Angelica drag him off to the den.

"Isn't he an auror in the organised crimes division?" my dad asked with a frown.

"He's also Rachel's father, and more importantly, Angelica's grandfather," I said. "You're welcome to go introduce yourselves. I have to go brace myself for Ron Weasley's wrath."

"Dear Merlin, why?" my dad asked.

"I'll tell you in four years," I replied cheerfully, wandering off to the kitchen. Mr Baker, Sam, and Gran Weasley were working on dinner, aprons over their finery.

"Scorpius, love, grab us the mixing bowl," Gran Weasley instructed, gesturing at the top shelf of a cabinet. As the tallest man in the house, it was often my job to grab things.

I pulled it down and handed it to her, nicked a crostini from a serving platter, and ran out of the room before Sam could jinx me.

"So Nika, when are you and Sammy going to have babies?" Victoire asked. She and Dom were sitting next to each other in the window seat in the parlour.

"Don't call me Nika," Dom replied through a forced smile. "And only after I retire from Quidditch. I'm a Beater. The chance of miscarriage is so astronomically high – hell, I could've been pregnant loads of times these past four years we've been together and not have known it."

"Don't tell Sam that, he'll cry," I said. "Have you lot seen Rose or Hermione or Ron?"

"I think they went out to the garden," Dom replied. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason, I just have to go get my arse kicked," I said. "Always nice to see you Vicky."

"Don't call me that!" Victoire exclaimed after my retreating back. I heard Dom snicker.

Out in the garden, Ron and Hermione were sitting on a bench that had been cleared of snow. Ron had his arm around her shoulders and Hermione was staring at Rose with a sort of confused expression.

I made my way over to them and snaked my arm around Rose's waist. Ron's eye twitched.

"Where'd you get?" I asked.

"To 'we've been seeing each other since Sam and Dom's wedding,'" Rose replied. She turned back to her parents. "Sort of on and off until a bit before last Christmas."

"Has it really been a year?" I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

"Really, honey?" Rose replied, giving me a slightly amused look.

"It's been a shitty year other than that," I said with a shrug. She nodded in agreement.

"So you've been seeing each other since Christmas last year," Hermione said. "Thank you for finally telling us."

Ron looked sort of annoyed with both of us, but maybe because of the Cartwright scandal and the fact we'd both helped fix it, he seemed less reluctant to agree to our relationship.

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I _just_ told my parents I have a four year old," I said.

"Oh," Rose replied, turning to glance at me with tender eyes. "As long as we're making life altering decisions today, we should talk about that in a moment."

"I'm happy you got your daughter back, Scorpius," Hermione said in her most diplomatic voice. "But what does it have to do with your relationship with my daughter?"

"Well, see, we've been sleeping together for over a year," Rose said slowly.

"You knocked her up, didn't you?" Ron asked in an icy voice.

"I did," I agreed, my arm tightening around Rose's waist while a stupidly happy grin snuck onto my face. Ron's fist clenched like he wanted to hit me. "But I also asked her to marry me."

Ron's eye squeezed up and he looked bewildered.

"Did you say yes?" he asked finally, looking like he couldn't imagine it.

Rose and I exchanged looks.

"Well, Dad, considering that I'm not Rachel Tyler and I'm also actually in love with him, yes, I did," Rose replied. "Shall we go into dinner?"

The whole experience did absolutely nothing to dissuade me of the impression I was batting a thousand.

It was the best Christmas dinner we'd had, probably ever. My parents sat at the end of the table with Em's parents, all four looking unnerved by the fact they happened to be grandparents. Bill and Fleur Weasley were chatting happily with McFarlane as Bill and McFarlane had served prefect duty together in Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione looked too wigged out to do much besides pick at their food. Gran and Granddad Weasley were fussing over all the children along with Will's and Sam's parents while Dylan's parents and Al's conferred over the state of our various family.

"Oh fucksticks," Al mumbled halfway through the pudding so only Dylan and I could hear him.

"What?" Dylan asked.

"Thanks for setting a precedent, mate," Al said, slapping me in the arm.

"What did I do?" I asked.

"Now the parents are going to want us to get married too," Al explained sulkily.

"Married?" Dylan repeated, looking equally perturbed by it.

"Married?" Ginny and Mrs Abramson exclaimed, and then they set upon their sons and started fussing.

By the time everyone had retired to bed ("Christmas is the best thing _ever_," Angelica announced as we tucked her into her bed with a fleet of pygmy puffs), Rose and I were exhausted and collapsed onto my bed.

"What did you want to say about Angelica earlier?" I asked, sliding her silky dress up her legs and placing small kisses on her thighs.

"I know Rachel isn't dead or anything," she said. "But she won't be Angelica's mother. We both know that."

I nodded in agreement and grabbed the edge of her knickers in my teeth before I started pulling them down her legs. She giggled quietly and ran her fingers through my hair as I kissed my way back up her thighs.

"And since we're getting married," Rose continued, running her finger across the ring I'd got her. It was rose gold because I thought it was funny and was inlaid with diamonds and one very small sapphire. "And we're going to have a baby of our own…"

I grinned and slid her dress over her hips so I could kiss her stomach as well.

"I don't want to be Angelica's stepmother," Rose said.

"What?" I asked, all playfulness gone. I gave her a hard stare and she rolled her eyes.

"I want to adopt her, Blondie," she said. "I'd like to actually _be_ her mother."

"Oh," I replied. And then I smiled stupidly.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Ioan got himself arrested," Will informed us in mid-June. "He got caught trying to lift artefacts from a museum."

"Of course he did," I replied. "Well, I can't say I care, exactly."

"I don't think anyone does, really," Rose replied. She was stretched out on the sofa with her feet in my lap while a few pygmy puffs cuddled up in the crook of her neck and a single large, scarlet puff had taken up residence on her baby bump. Every time she breathed, it rose higher into the air and purred loudly.

Violette and Angelica were colouring on the floor.

"Well, I hope he has a nice time there," Em said.

"Who's Ioan?" Violette asked.

"He was someone we went to Hogwarts with," Rose replied.

"Mummy, I drew this for you," Angelica announced, handing Rose a crayon drawing. She had taken the news that Rose was to be her mother quite well. Better than either my parents or Ron Weasley, anyways, who had sat uncomfortably opposite each other when Rose and I told them.

"So we're going to share grandchildren then," Ron said finally.

"Don't say things like that," my dad replied. "Makes me feel old."

"Well, you are fifty," I pointed out before I was forced to duck the throw pillow aimed at my head.

The drawing that Angelica handed Rose was a stick figure drawing of the three of us and a very small figure that she explained was her new little brother or sister. We were surrounded by pygmy puffs.

"It's lovely, thank you," Rose said, kissing her on the forehead.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"But I don't even…" Ron mumbled, peering over his wife's shoulder at the very tiny bundle of baby in her arms.

"Technically she's not your first grandchild," Hermione pointed out. "Legally, Angelica's your granddaughter as well."

Ron and Angelica stared at each other, big blue eyes to slightly lined and concerned looking blue eyes. Ron swallowed and then let his paternal instincts kick in. Whatever else I thought about Ron, or he about me, we had to agree that the other was a good father and in Ron's case, a good grandfather.

Ron smiled down at Angelica and scooped her up into a hug.

"I wish _I _had red hair," Angelica lamented wistfully, looking over Hermione's shoulder at the baby as well. Barely a few hours old, she already had fuzzy red hair over her head. Rose thought it was funny. My father did not.

"We'll name her after a star," Rose offered as a form of platitude to my deeply uncomfortable father.

The thing that really seemed to irritate my parents was the fact Angelica very much preferred Ron and Hermione to them as grandparents. When asked, she would reply that she had three grandparents, Grandpa Weasley, Grammy Weasley, and Granddad Davan. Even though she was four and a half, she had mastered the art of tact and would admit to having my parents as well if they were in earshot. In the hospital, she had even hugged my father's legs before she scampered off to hold Ron's hand. My father did not take kindly to any element of this.

"Merlin there are a lot of you in here," Al said, shooing my parents aside so he could run diagnostics on Rose and Lyra to make sure they were okay.

"Ah yes, Healer Potter," my dad said, finally relaxing a bit and looking slightly amused by the circumstances.

Al flushed around the ears and pushed the glasses he had taken to wearing up his nose. "Kindly stuff it, Healer Malfoy."

My dad snickered to himself but didn't say anything else about Al's official position. After the incident at the warehouse, the St Mungo's teaching academy had expedited his official accreditation as a Healer due to his excellent performance under duress.

Al ran his tests to make sure two thirds of the important women in my life were healthy and safe and then kissed Rose and Angelica on the forehead before he ran off to return to his rounds.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when Potter's son was a Healer," my dad commented idly.

"We never thought we'd see you volunteer to help anyone either," Ron pointed out, setting Angelica on Rose's bed so she could snuggle closer. My dad gave Ron a bad look and then returned to staring at the baby in Hermione's arms.

"Do you want to hold her?" I asked quietly enough that he could hear me.

"What?" my dad asked in a sharp tone. He looked terrified, but managed to keep it together when Hermione handed her over with a small smile.

My dad kept staring down at Lyra with panic in his eyes.

"Oh come on, you handle babies every single day," I pointed out, sitting on the foot of Rose's bed. She smiled at me tiredly.

"Perhaps, but it's different when – when they're your grandchildren," my dad managed to say. I smirked at him and took my youngest daughter from him, snuggling her as close as I could.

OOooOOooOOooOO

We got married a week before Christmas. Since everything in our relationship had happened on or near Christmas, we thought it would be appropriate. We did it a week before so that the lot of us (save Al) could space our hangovers out over a week. Hangover from the wedding on December 17th, hangover from Christmas on December 25th, hangover from New Year on January 1st, and everything would go swimmingly. We set up to have the ceremony in the ballroom and had Sam charm the back wall – normally made out of glass anyways – so that it seemed to just open onto the garden. Frank fixed all the flowers for us and Sam charmed the icicles so they would twinkle like fairy lights. The pygmy puffs decided that they were going to be attending in full force in their perfect military style ranks – looking very much like a fluffy, multi-coloured Roman legion – and Angelica and Violette spent several hours tying bows around them so they were formal. The puffs seemed to accept this as a reasonable thing and stayed very still while the girls did it.

Al and Dylan got in a minor fight about which of them got the be the bridesmaid this time until Rose swooped in and informed them she would be asking Lily Potter and Lucy Longbottom (nee Weasley) to be bridesmaids as well so that they could both be groomsmen. Then they got in a tiff about which of them got to be my best man until Will decided that, since Em was the maid of honour, he was going to be my best man and they could both fuck off.

Rose was so far beyond beautiful that I couldn't really handle it. She was never one to wear white – especially since her mother and her Muggle grandparents pointed out it would be a lie – and so her dress was ivory. Angelica and Violette led the procession in their matching scarlet flower girl dresses and both stopped to give me a kiss on the cheek before they ran off to sit in the front row with their grandparents of a various assortment. When Rose and Ron reached the front of the room, I think I might have stopped breathing for a moment.

My brain skipped through the ceremony the same way time passes when you're drunk – one moment I was staring at Rose with a stupid smile on my face, the next I was saying "I do" and I only had vague recollections of whatever had gone on between those events, and then we were snogging much more than strictly appropriate for a wedding.

We danced most of the night away. Rose was stolen occasionally by her father, by my father, by Harry, and by Will, Sam, Dylan, and Al for one dance a piece. My favourite moment was when she danced with her granddad Weasley, who had indeed forgiven her for marrying a pureblood. I was barely aware of the fact I danced with my mother, and with Hermione, and with Dom and Em. I also got one dance in with Angelica standing on my feet while we revolved slowly on the spot. Then she was snatched away by each of her three grandfathers.

When I finally got Rose back, we were both exhausted.

"I love you," I said, kissing her softly.

"You can't just say things like that and then kiss me like that and expect me to stay proper," Rose mumbled back, kissing me again.

"I have absolutely no interest in you remaining proper," I replied. "If our very small and impressionable daughters weren't in the room, I would probably be taking your dress of right now."

"What about all of our parents?" she asked, raising her eyebrow at me and trying not to look amused.

"Eh," I replied with a shrug. "They've clearly all had sex before."

Rose laughed at me, bid everyone goodnight – including her parents, who were taking Angelica and Lyra and Violette for the night for a slumber party (no one had yet figured out how to explain to Violette that she wasn't related to Ron and Hermione and that they weren't really her grandparents. No one really seemed to mind) – and then we were off to our room.

"Do we get to have more kids?" I asked, unbuttoning her dress and kissing every inch of skin revealed with the loss of each button.

"Can we perhaps deal with the three month old we already have and the four year old?" she asked. "And _then_ talk about it?"

"Right, right," I replied. "Sorry."

**Review!**


	22. Eponymous

**A/N: Alright folks. This is actually the last chapter. This is all. The end. This chapter also happens to cover seven years or something, or five, or actually, I don't even know. I think I wrapped up some loose ends/all loose ends. And however much you all beg, this is truly the end, because I'm going to work on a Teddy-Victoire story next. Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter: Sarnia Nereid, Fionamoi, KeishaM, Tom, Prunella7, blue21, district 9 3-4, Blood and Dark Chocolate, CurlyFries01, MaebeSara, DawnWhitman, and FairyLightsAndGlitter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story, because you guys rock my world and make it possible for me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy the last chapter. – Mousie**

Chapter Twenty One – Eponymous

Married life worked out well for me. I'm pretty sure it worked out well for Rose too, and our girls certainly liked playing with our rings.

"Someday _I'm_ going to get married," Angelica decided from where she was curled up at the foot of our bed. Rose and I were going over accounts from MadCap and Lyra was asleep between us.

"Are you?" Rose asked. "I'm sure your dad will love that."

I gave her a bad look and she snickered.

"I know Grandpa Weasley won't," I replied.

"But he's married too," Angelica pointed out. "So doesn't he not get to be angry about it?"

"Oh, there's no way this is going to end well," Rose mumbled.

"What isn't?" I asked.

"She can already out reason my father," Rose replied. "She's going to be six next week."

"Well, I've often thought your father had the reasoning capabilities of a five year old, so…" I mumbled.

"You're just bitter about the time he arrested you," Rose pointed out.

"No, I'm bitter at your brother for that one," I said.

"What's arrested?" Angelica asked.

"Erm…we'll tell you when you're older," I assured her.

She sighed laboriously and slid off the bed. "You always say that," she complained. She kissed Rose on the cheek and then kissed me on the cheek and then ran off to bed.

OOooOOooOOooOO

A week before Angelica's seventh birthday, I walked into the bathroom to find Rose throwing up.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching down to hold her hair. She looked up long enough to give me a dark look.

"This is your fault, Malfoy," she informed me with a bitter glare.

"Why is mummy sick?" Angelica asked, peering around the corner of the bathroom door. Lyra was holding her hand. She was one and a half at the time and her curly red hair had formed a halo around her head. Somehow, the combination of Rose's scarlet hair and my blond had given her exactly Weasley Red hair.

"Because you're going to be a big sister," Rose replied before she threw up again.

I grinned my way through the next month.

"Merlin, it's like the two of you are addicted to having babies," Will said, sliding me a drink across the table. Whenever we wanted to talk frankly those days, we had to do it at the Mad Hatter since some contingent of our combined three daughters would often run through the room at the exact wrong moment.

"No, they're addicted to fucking like bunnies and this is the result," Al pointed out.

"I thought that was me and Dom," Sam replied, taking a drink of his own Firewhiskey. His face split into a stupid smile. "I like the off season."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Will said, giving him a slightly disgusted look. He turned his attention to Al. "So how's your life these days?"

Surprising almost no one, Al didn't work full time for MadCap. He kept his position at St Mungo's and really seemed to enjoy his work.

"Oh you know, my boyfriend keeps hiding whenever I try to talk to him," he said, eyeing my beer with interest.

"Hiding," I repeated. "What sort of hiding?"

"I dunno," Al replied. "He just keeps…being suspicious."

"Suspicious," Sam repeated. "What sort of suspicious?"

"Disappears for long hours and won't tell me where he's gone," Al replied. "It's been going on for a month now."

"A month," Will said. The three of us glanced at each other. "You don't suppose…"

"I think he's cheating on me," Al piped up.

"He's not," the three of us assured him.

"Oh really," Al replied, sounding entirely unconvinced. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'll talk to him," I offered.

I kept my word and cornered Dylan at the office the next day.

"Mate, he's onto you and thinks there's something suspicious going on," I informed him. "His guess is that you're cheating on him."

Dylan's eyes widened in horror. "Why would he think that?"

"I dunno, because you won't tell him anything about where you keep disappearing to?" I guessed. "I mean, fuck, I've got a pregnant wife and she's less suspicious of my actions than Al is of yours."

"Your pregnant wife can also hear you, you bloody idiot!" Rose called from down the hall.

"Sorry, love!" I called back. Within moments, Rose appeared in the doorway of Dylan's office and crossed her arms at him, boosting up her mildly swollen breasts. They hadn't quite diminished from having Lyra and now she was pregnant again, and it was excellent.

"Of course Al's suspicious," she pointed out, giving me a knowing look that said she was well aware that I was staring at her tits. "You once broke up with him by pointing out that Ioan Finnegan of all people was fit, and then you slept with his cousin."

Dylan winced. "Right, right," he said. "I'll just have to move up my plans."

"You do that," I recommended, wrapping my arm around Rose's waist and steering her out of Dylan's office. "Sorry for staring."

"No you're not," she replied, sounding like she didn't really care.

"No, I'm not," I agreed, following her into her office. The door had been closed for a few seconds before she waved her wand at it to lock it, pushed me onto the desk and undid my trousers. I obligingly slid her skirt up her legs and did away with her knickers before she straddled me and pushed me backwards so I was lying on top of the desk.

"Were you this horny when you were pregnant with Lyra?" I asked. She leaned down and snogged me soundly.

"I have absolutely no use for you talking," she replied. I just nodded in agreement and let her shag me.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"He wasn't cheating on me," Al said a few weeks later with a barely supressed grin.

"You don't say," I replied, returning to the coffee pot.

"He's – well, he's proposed," Al continued, letting the grin light up his whole face.

"You don't say," I replied, offering him a cuppa and shooing Angelica's hands away from the coffee pot. "You don't get to drink coffee until you're at least eleven."

"But _Dad_," she complained.

"Eleven?" Al asked, looking concerned for my parenting.

"That's how old I was when I started drinking coffee," I replied with a shrug.

Al kept giving me a disturbed look.

"What? They don't supervise that at Hogwarts," I pointed out. "Mr I-Was-a-Fourteen-Year-Old-Alcoholic."

Al shrugged and took a drink of his coffee while Angelica climbed onto the stool next to him. "Wait a minute, you knew he was going to propose, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "So did Will and Sam and Rose and Em and Dom."

"And me!" Angelica piped up.

The two of us turned and stared at her while she bit into one of the croissants Sam had made the day before.

"I found the ring in Uncle Dylan's work bag," she explained.

"Oh there's no way that's going to end badly," Al commented with an amused look before he ruffled her hair.

OOooOOooOOooOO

It was the first day of the Quidditch training season when Dom wandered into the kitchen at eight in the morning – long past the time she should have been at practice – poured herself a cup of coffee and started heaping a plate with Sam's homemade pastries.

"Aren't you supposed to be at practice?" Rose asked, leaning her back against my chest so I could run my hands across her baby bump. I've heard Muggle women complain about something called stretch marks, but thankfully, we wizards have a way of correcting that.

"I'm taking a year off," Dom replied.

"Erm…why?" I asked.

"In honour of turning thirty," she muttered darkly.

"You turned thirty last year," Rose pointed out.

"Oh right," Dom mumbled. "Sometimes I really hate being four years older than the lot of you."

"Well, you're technically five years older than Em, but you're really only three years older than Al, since he's almost a full year older than me and your and my birthdays are two weeks apart on the calendar," I rambled.

She blinked at me slowly for a moment.

"Rose, might I castrate your husband?" she asked.

"You can sterilise him, but I do have use for his Quidditch gear, thanks," Rose replied.

"Why would you let her sterilise me?" I demanded.

"You've already knocked me up twice and you're just going to have to be happy with three kids and holy shit, Dom you're pregnant, aren't you?" Rose exclaimed.

"Yep," Dom agreed. "Found out yesterday, which was fortunate since otherwise I might have gone to practice today and then might have ended up not being pregnant anymore and I think it might have killed Sam."

"He's over the moon, isn't he?" I guessed.

"Yeah," Dom replied, unable to keep herself from smiling. "Al says it's twins too, so he's a bit exuberant about it."

"Is that why none of us saw the two of you yesterday?" Rose asked.

"Yeah," Dom said. "You're due in November, right?"

"Yep," Rose agreed, lacing her fingers through mine. "You?"

"March," she replied. "And Dylan and Al are getting married in January, so we've got a few crazy months coming up, don't we?"

"Yeah," Rose and I agreed.

OOooOOooOOooOO

My dad stared at the very small brown eyed baby in his arms.

"Explain something to me," he said finally. Rose was completely asleep with Lyra and Angelica curled up on either side of her. I wanted nothing more than to join them, but my father was still holding the baby and I wasn't going to let him keep holding her while I was asleep.

"What would you like me to explain?" I asked.

"For several generations – seventeen, I think it was – not a single Malfoy had a daughter," my dad replied. "You've now had three."

"Making up for lost opportunities," I explained, taking Christine back from him. Christine was the name of Rose's Muggle grandmother.

My dad frowned at me, but Hermione swooped over and plucked her out of his arms.

"Well I think they're gorgeous," she said, kissing Christine's already strawberry hair. It wasn't as dark a red as Lyra's. "All three of them."

I smiled at her and found myself falling asleep on the tiny hospital bed despite myself. I trusted Hermione with the baby a whole lot more than I trusted my father.

OOooOOooOOooOO

Dylan and Al's wedding was a riot. Violette and Angelica – ages almost-eight (call her seven and consider yourself disowned) and six and a half – were enthusiastic flower girls and refused point blank to sit down once they'd scattered petals everywhere. Ginny and Mrs Abramson cried on each other's shoulders the entire time, despite the fact that James Potter had got married two years prior, then divorced a year after that, then remarried last summer. Al was certainly not Ginny's first child to get married, and James's habit of marrying Quidditch groupies and then divorcing them when he realised they didn't have brains seemed to suggest Al's wedding was not going to be the last where Ginny was the mother of the groom. Or, in this case, one of the grooms.

The reception went swimmingly, especially after Hermione and Ron borrowed away our children. Angelica and Violette threw a joint tantrum about it and refused to leave unless they had no fewer than seven pygmy puffs a piece. Lyra joined in just to be like her big sister and Ron gave me an annoyed look when he finally managed to get the four girls and twenty-one pygmy puffs out of the house. Christine, thankfully, was not old enough to want the pygmy puffs to come with her.

The party quickly turned debauched but it almost ended when Rose started muttering about not being sexy anymore since she was, apparently by her standards, fat.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked, kissing her neck from behind while we walked up the stairs to our room.

"No, I'm not you prat," she snapped, sounding truly upset. "I used to be thin and attractive and-"

"And you so very much still are," I replied, kissing down her neck to her shoulder. "You're actually sexier now."

"No, I'm not," she insisted while I let my hands trail from the tops of her arms down her sides to her waist and her hips and pulled her flush against me.

"I mean, you've always been sexy and you've always had nice curves, but now you're so damn attractive I can barely keep my hands off you when we're in public," I said, letting one hand slide up her back to the zipper of her dress. I unzipped it and turned her around so I could snog her before we stumbled into our room. I locked the door with a flick of my wand. "And you know what? Even if you weren't the most beautiful, and attractive, and sexy, and smart-" I punctuated each adjective with a kiss. "—witch I had ever known, I'd still want you this much."

"You're drunk," she informed me. But she seemed to be relenting slightly in her poor opinions of herself.

"Yes," I agreed. "But even if I wasn't, I'd still want you because you make me happy."

"Is that so?" she asked, running her fingers through my hair and pulling me down onto the bed.

"It is," I agreed.

"Do you really think I'm sexy?" she asked. I nodded and peeled her dress off. "Prove it."

I grinned at her lopsidedly and snogged her.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Danny," I said, waltzing into Ellison's office and flopping into one of the armchairs. Ellison coughed, turned faintly grey, and then took another puff of his cigar. "You wanted to see me?"

"Sit," he instructed. When he noticed I was already sitting, he shooed his bodyguards out of the room and stubbed his cigar out. He didn't look very good. Granted, he never looks good, exactly, but he looked even worse than normal.

"What have you got for me today?" I asked.

"My death," Ellison replied calmly.

"Shit, really?" I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair.

"Lovely Muggle disease called 'lung cancer' or something," he explained. "The Healers say if they had caught it earlier I might be fine, but they didn't. Anyway, the cause is irrelevant."

"Sure," I said, actually feeling slightly depressed about his imminent demise. He was a horrible man, it was true, and he enjoyed torturing and murdering people who crossed him. But he had never attempted genocide like certain other horrible men I had the misfortune of knowing. And there was mutual respect between us that I would be sorry to see go.

"As I'm sure you realise, my idiot brother is poised to take over my business interests," Ellison said.

"Oh goody," I replied. "The man can't even do up his own laces without cocking something up. I shudder to think of what he'll do to your company."

"As do I," Ellison said. He sighed and took a drink of his scotch before offering me a glass as well. I accepted. "How's the wife?"

"Keeping me appropriately whipped," I replied, taking a drink. Ellison nodded. "So why did you want to see me?"

"My brother is going to resist, but when he does, just have him arrested," Ellison suggested. "Or relocated, or murdered, or whatever it is you do to people."

"Why?" I asked. "What's he going to resist?"

Ellison didn't answer except to slide a piece of parchment across the desk towards me. "This will make you the CEO of my company."

"Sorry?" I asked, mentally recounting the first time I had been in his office, when I had threatened his life and bluffed my way into getting him to stop abusing Quidditch players for profit.

"Technically, it's a merger between our companies," Ellison continued as though I hadn't said anything. "So I believe your wife would officially be the CEO, but from what I understand, you handle all the real estate and investment projects anyways."

"You're giving me your company," I summarised. Ellison nodded once. I finished off my scotch in one drink. "Alright then, where do I sign?"

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Granddad Davan!" Angelica exclaimed, throwing herself into McFarlane's arms where he had just stepped out of the fireplace. Lyra peered at him curiously until he hugged her as well. "Dad and I were just making biscuits, come see!"

She dragged him by the hand into the kitchen where I was standing hopelessly covered in flour and powdered sugar.

"You weren't seriously trying to make Scottish shortbread, were you?" McFarlane asked me by way of greeting.

"So if I was?" I huffed, handing Lyra the mixing spoon and giving Angelica the bowl. She offered a pinch of dough to Christine, who was sitting in her baby rocker in the corner. Christine grinned toothlessly at McFarlane.

"You're not Scottish," he pointed out.

"Maybe not, but the eldest is, and the younger are ginger enough that they could pass for one of your people," I replied, putting the pan in the oven.

"Where is everyone?" McFarlane asked, as if noticing for the first time that the four of us – and him – were the only people in the house.

"Out," I replied dismissively. Sam and Dom had gone off to France to visit Dom's grandparents with their one and a half year old babies and everyone else had made for a day trip to see them. The girls and I had decided to stay in and bake.

"Ah," McFarlane said. "Daniel Ellison died last week."

"I heard," I replied, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms at him.

"Violent crime and unexplained murders dropped by fifty percent overnight practically," McFarlane continued.

"Must be under new management," I replied. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"We've got Butterbeer!" Angelica piped up excitedly, digging into the refrigerator to grab three bottles. She handed one to me, one to McFarlane, and then ran off with the third.

"You had best share that with your sister!" I called after her while Lyra ran after her looking like she was about to throw a fit if she didn't get any Butterbeer.

At nine, five, and two they were a bit of a handful.

"Look, Malfoy," McFarlane said in a low voice. "I'm very good at my job, and I'm not an idiot."

McFarlane had been promoted to the head of the organised crime division.

"I never thought you were," I replied honestly.

"I know you lot have something to do with this," he said. "I know you're involved in something to do with various illegal industries."

"Well, four of us are acquitted thieves," I replied with a shrug.

"But I also know that over the past eleven years, even though the trade in illegal objects and restricted substances has increased, the dangerous additives in the drugs have all but disappeared, and the drugs that typically lead to dangerous behaviour have had things added to remove that side-effect, and now the violent crime has dropped," he said. "Knockturn Alley is practically safe these days, and I know you lot own ninety percent of the buildings there."

"What's your point?" I asked, wondering if I should be nervous.

"My point is that I am very good at my job and I know you people are behind it all," McFarlane replied. "My other point, however, is that I'm very good at my job and I can recognise a good thing when I see it. Naturally, I'm sure that everything you're doing is illegal, but if, somehow, you lot and MadCap Industries are responsible for stopping murders and drug induced attacks, I don't really care how you're doing it. I just thought you should know that I know."

"I know," I replied, unable to help myself. I took a drink of my Butterbeer. "How's Rachel?"

McFarlane sighed and took a deep drink of his own beer. He had gone to visit her twice a year ever since I had told him where she was. "The same," he said. "Always the same. They don't know what Cartwright did to her, and they never will since Sam removed her memories and Cartwright hanged himself last month. But they don't think she's going to ever come back fully."

The news that Cartwright had hanged himself had been cause for celebration in our house, as morbid as it was. I suppose he finally realised that no one loved him for what he had done, and no one was going to forgive him, and anyone accused of being a Cartwright sympathiser had been thoroughly investigated by the Ministry to make sure they weren't also rounding up and slaughtering Muggles. The last I had heard, Isobel had taken custody of her younger sisters and they had all changed their last name. Apparently, she had also married a nice Muggle who thought the fact his wife was magical was the coolest thing he had ever heard of. This very well may have been the last straw in Cartwright's suicide.

"So what about visiting?" I asked quietly in case Angelica could hear me.

"They think it would be a bad idea," McFarlane replied sadly. "I bring her pictures whenever I go, but the Healers think if she ever got to hold Angie again, she would break when you had to take her home."

"But she can handle the pictures, right?" I asked.

McFarlane nodded. "I still don't think she really believes me when I tell her that Angie's still alive, but the pictures don't bother her very much."

"That's good at least," I replied. McFarlane nodded and Angelica invited him to stay for dinner.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"Will you tell us about Hogwarts?" Violette requested on September 1st over dinner. Angelica was ten and would be starting Hogwarts a year from today.

"What do you want us to tell you about Hogwarts?" Dom asked, rocking one of the twins softly at the end of the table. Patrick and Apolline after their respective great-grandparents. The twins were three.

"There are four houses, right?" Angelica asked. "What houses were you all in?"

"Well, your parents, Dom, and I were all in Gryffindor," Al explained.

"Sam and I were in Ravenclaw," Will said. "Em was a Slytherin, as was Rachel."

Angelica was aware of Rachel's existence, but had yet to ask to meet her. Being that she was precociously intelligent and prone to knowing things she shouldn't, I was relatively convinced she knew Rachel wasn't well.

"And Dylan was our lone Hufflepuff," Al finished, kissing the side of his head.

"What about the grandparents?" Violette asked.

"Everyone in our family has been in Slytherin except for your uncle Scorpius," Em explained. "Your dad's parents were in Ravenclaw."

"Everyone in our family has been in Gryffindor," Rose continued. "Except my idiot brother."

"I like Uncle Hugo," Angelica announced.

"You do?" the rest of us chorused in complete confusion.

Angelica shrugged. "I win all our arguments at Christmas."

Dylan burst out laughing.

"Have you beat your grandpa at chess yet?" Rose asked.

"Not officially," Angelica replied, sounding grumpy. "He keeps letting me win."

"We'll talk to him about it," I assured her, wondering idly how annoyed Ron would be that a ten year old could tell he was letting her win. "And your Granddad Davan was in Ravenclaw as well, if you were wondering."

She nodded and then fell silent for a moment. "So I have a fifty percent chance of being in Gryffindor, a thirty-seven and a half percent chance of being in Slytherin, and a twelve and a half percent chance of being in Ravenclaw," she calculated.

"Well, based on that statement alone, I think you've got a much higher chance of being in Ravenclaw than you might think," Will replied.

"How long have all of you been friends?" Violette asked curiously, leaning against her mother's shoulder and blinking her unexpectedly blue eyes at all of us.

"Fifth year?" Will suggested. Then he realised what he'd said and clammed up.

"Not until fifth year?" Angelica asked. "But you lot are completely inseparable."

"Well, just because we were all meant to be best friends forever doesn't mean we always realised it, love," Al replied. "Your dad and I shared a room for four years before we actually spoke to each other."

"Still your fault," Dylan piped up.

"You had classes with him for four years before that too," Al replied with a mockingly annoyed look.

"You know, I never really understood why you didn't have friends until your fifth year," Dom said. "You got on great with everyone on the Quidditch team."

"I know," I replied. "But it was only because we were a team and you lot had to put aside your prejudices and tolerate me."

"Oh come on," Dom said, rolling her eyes. "You were friends with James and Fred and Lily and me, and Frank clearly and-"

"And absolutely no one else until James, Fred, and Frank gave me the Marauder's Map so I could get back at the Slytherins," I interjected.

"What did they do to you?" Violette asked in concern.

"They didn't really like me much since I was the first person in my family to be sorted into Gryffindor," I explained. "And so they spent most of the first four years of my Hogwarts experience attacking me."

"But Daddy you're so nice!" Lyra insisted. "Mummy liked you, though, didn't she?"

"Of course I did," Rose lied, shooting me a pointed look. "But I was too shy to tell him that."

"So what did you do to get back at the Slytherins?" Angelica asked.

"Well, we made one of them think he was in love with the Headmistress," Em explained. "We convinced one that the giant squid was in his dormitory. We strung one up by his ankle from the chandelier, and sent one of them for a ride on a Thestral. One of them we left in an inescapable tunnel that necessitated him to leave the school grounds and get detention. Erm…"

"We transfigured the Slytherin Quidditch team's robes into pearl bathing suits while they were playing and they were all nasty blokes," Will continued. "And we dyed the entire common room pink and also all of the Slytherins themselves."

"Except for Em," Dylan continued. "And then we made them all burst into canaries at the end of year feast."

The girls were howling with laughter by the time we finished listing our pranks from fifth year.

"And your dad, surprising no one, released an infestation of pygmy puffs into the school," Rose added.

"They make us chocolate," I insisted. "I don't see what's so bad about that."

As if to prove my point, a small fleet of puffs scampered down the table leaving their individually crafted chocolate bars in front of each person.

"Absolutely nothing," Rose replied. She smiled at me and helped three year old Christine unwrap her chocolate. Merlin alone knew where the puffs had got hold of wrappers.

"And what's the Marauder's Map?" Angelica asked in her most innocent voice. I was immediately suspicious of her intentions, but Al was always a sucker for her innocent face.

"My granddad made it when he was in school," he explained. "It's a map of the entire school that shows where everything and everyone is at any given moment. And you can only see it if you tap it and say, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good' and then the writing will disappear if you tell it, 'Mischief managed.'"

Angelica nodded in a slow, calculating way.

"And it's locked in my safe where it is going to stay," I finished, narrowing my eyes at her before I gave Al a disapproving look.

He seemed to realise what he had said, because he looked wickedly guilty.

OOooOOooOOooOO

"I can't believe she's going to Hogwarts next week," I said. I was sitting on the floor of the main den while Rose was stretched out on the sofa above me. I had tipped my head back and rested it on her thigh and she was playing with my hair.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Blondie, but she's actually going tomorrow," Rose replied.

"Holy shit, it's August 31st?" I demanded. "And no one told me?"

"We had sort of expected that at age thirty-two you could be expected to keep track of the calendar," Dylan piped up from his armchair.

"Mate, it's Scorpius," Will pointed out. Em was using his lap as a pillow. All six kids had been put to bed earlier in the evening, and the eight of us had congregated in the den. Normally during the summers we would congregate outside after the kids had gone to bed, but it was raining as though the world was aware tomorrow was September. More aware than I had been at any rate.

"He's not normally that clueless though," Al pointed out.

"Yeah, I mean, he does manage to run several companies that should by all rights lead to his arrest and lifetime imprisonment," Dom replied.

"If any of our business ventures fold, all of us are going to jail permanently," I said. "You included. Fortunately, McFarlane is irrevocably on our side."

"It is nice," Sam agreed.

"Very," Em replied. Then she sat up suddenly with a suspicious look in her eye. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" we chorused.

Then we heard what she had to be referring to – a small laugh and then a crashing noise, followed by whispered scolding.

"I'll go," I offered, climbing to my feet and lighting my wand.

There was nothing on the ground floor, or the first floor, but halfway down the second floor, I heard whispers coming from my office. As quietly as I could I snuck towards the door.

"No, the parents are all outside," Violette whispered harshly. "Stop being a baby, Lyra."

"But it's _raining_," Lyra whispered back. "Patrick go look at the garden."

There were small running footsteps and I ducked into the shadows in time to see four year old Patrick Baker run out of my office and peer out the hall window.

"It's dark out there," he announced.

"That means the parents aren't outside," Lyra whispered triumphantly. "And they probably heard everything."

"Would you lot be quiet? I'm trying to concentrate," Angelica snapped.

"Sorry," the five other kids mumbled. I heard the tell-tale clicks of the combination lock on my safe being opened. That was when I decided enough was enough.

"I thought we put you lot to bed," I said, stepping into the doorway. Angelica slammed the safe closed and hid something behind her back. Other than her actions, absolutely nothing about her looked suspicious. There was no way for that talent to end well.

"Sorry Uncle Scor," Violette said, grinning apologetically at me.

"What are you lot doing in here?" I asked.

"Practicing!" Christine, Patrick, and Apolline chorused in bright, chipper voices. Despite the fact they had different parents, the three could have been triplets with their coppery blond hair and brown eyes and Weasley family freckles. Dom, Sam, Rose, and I had agreed that the moment the three ended up in Hogwarts – inevitably in Gryffindor – they would probably tell people they were triplets anyways.

"Practicing for what?" I asked.

"Our inevitable life of high-flying, high-stakes, white-collar thievery," Violette explained.

"So naturally you're practicing this on my safe," I replied, crossing my arms at them and raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry Daddy," Lyra said, hugging me around the waist.

"Mmhmm," I replied, brushing her curly red hair off her face. "Back to bed, the lot of you. And if you're very lucky, I won't tell the rest of the parents."

"Thank you!" five of them chorused, running past me back towards their rooms. Angelica started to edge out the door with her back to me.

"What's in your hand?" I asked.

"My wand," she replied, holding it out.

"The other hand," I said.

"Just a scrap bit of parchment," she replied as innocently as possible, holding out the battered piece of parchment to me.

I recognised it immediately, but I had to admire her audacity.

"Aha," I said. "Where, I suppose, you wrote down the combination to my safe?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"So what is the combination?" I asked.

"05-12-06," she replied like she couldn't help herself. I raised my eyebrow at her. "It's Mum's birthday."

I nodded slowly. "Go back to sleep," I said. "So we can get to the train tomorrow."

"G'night, Dad," she replied, stretching on her toes and kissing me on the cheek before she scampered down the corridor after everyone else. I heard her run until she figured I was out of earshot.

"Did you get it?" Violette whispered.

"Of course," Angelica replied, sounding almost offended that Violette had doubted her.

"Well test it then," Lyra insisted.

I heard the unmistakeable sound of a wand hitting parchment before Angelica whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

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